


a good heart is the sun and moon

by fairy___milly



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, assassin!laurent, but im not going into detail, implied csa, some smaurent, some violence! but not too extreme?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy___milly/pseuds/fairy___milly
Summary: "I think you're a fool," Laurent said, though his usual venom was lacking.Looking unabashedly at his lips, Damen answered, "I think you may be right."++a canon rewrite in which everything gets messier, and then it gets better.
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 126
Kudos: 224





	1. the start

On the morning of the execution, Laurent was running late.

He hadn't slept well the night before, which had resulted in him sleeping too late into the morning. He fumbled to lace up his clothes and comb his hair as quickly as he could. By the time he was out of his room, breakfast was over and a crowd had begun to gather outside. 

Before he hurried out the door, he snagged a piece of bread from the table. The moment he began to eat it, however, he started to feel sick to his stomach, so he stuffed it into his pocket and settled to eat it after the execution. 

It would be the first time Laurent had ever seen an execution. When his mother was alive, she would sit with him in the library until it was over. He had once overheard her arguing with his father that he was too young to be witnessing such a thing. Of course, that had been years ago. Laurent was nearly thirteen now, so when Auguste offered him the option of watching the execution or not, Laurent decided to watch. He was nearly a man, after all.

The yard in front of the palace had been converted temporarily for the execution. A crowd of nobles and courtiers was gathered and chattering loudly. The women were dressed in their fanciest hairstyles and finest silk dresses. Many of the elder men had their military medals displayed their lapel to show off their past achievements. Executions, Laurent knew, were not just for punishment of the accused. The nobles used them to show the king how much they supported him. They cheered and smiled so the king would favor them.

Laurent found his seat at his brother's right hand and sat. Auguste was wearing a severe navy coat and pants, and his golden crown sat proudly atop his head. Every inch of him looked regal and imposing and strong, but when he saw Laurent, he smiled.

"Sleepy?" 

"No," Laurent said too quickly, and Auguste laughed a bit. 

On Auguste's other side, their uncle was watching them through critical eyes. He said, "Your Grace." There was no real annoyance behind his tone, but Laurent heard it anyway. Their uncle often seemed marginally annoyed by the ease with which Auguste ruled. Auguste never seemed to notice, or rather he didn't care.

At this, Auguste rose. The crowd immediately went silent, and several of the retired military men saluted, which made Laurent want to roll his eyes. 

"Today we are here to witness the punishment of a traitor," King Auguste told the crowd. He received several murmurs of agreement and nods from the crowd, but Auguste raised a hand to silence them. He said, "Former-Counselor Guion stood accused of conspiracy against the Crown and was found guilty on all charges. For the crime of treason, there is no mercy."

The crowd shouted their support, and former-Counselor Guion was brought fourth. Laurent's stomach churned as he watched the executioner pull the black mask over his face and take up his axe. It was an enormous blade. Just looking at it made Laurent sink further into his chair.

"You do not have to look," Auguste whispered to Laurent, "It is already brave that you are sitting here." 

Laurent shook his head, "I want to look." 

Auguste turned back to the crowd. Former-Counselor Guion knelt in front of the block, which was positioned between them and the rest of the crowd. Auguste asked, "Have you any last words?" 

Guion looked at Auguste with more anger than Laurent had ever seen in a man. He snarled, "Your reign will end sooner than you know."

Laurent's blood ran cold, but Auguste remained calm as he said, "My reign has just begun." Then he nodded to the executioner, who hefted up the heavy axe. 

Laurent was very still as he watched what happened next. Guion laid down on the block, and in a harsh movement, the executioner brought down the axe. The sound was brutal. The head rolled off the block and fell to the ground. The body remained slumped over the block. Laurent could swear he saw Guion's eyes darting about for several seconds after his head was separated from his body.

The sound of the crowd cheering and jeering slowly faded in. Laurent tore his eyes away from the head and looked over the nobles. Even the softest of the women did not look disturbed by the blood. Laurent's own stomach twisted painfully, and he decided he would not be eating the bread after all.

Auguste patted Laurent on the arm and whispered, "You did well." 

Laurent felt like this was not true, but he nodded wordlessly anyway. 

+

The rest of his day felt like a blur. He couldn't focus on his lessons, and he skipped lunch even though he knew it would make Auguste stress. In his head, he kept replaying the execution. 

He had seen death before, when his father died and at his mother's wake, but that was not the same as violent death. Laurent felt older after watching it. When he went to practice his archery with his instructor, he imagined a person standing where the target was. He imagined he was a soldier or an assassin facing off against an enemy.

He hit his first ever bullseye, then his second.

It was mid afternoon when his uncle, the Lord of Arles, found him in the library, buried in a book he wasn't reading. The knight in his story slayed his enemy in a vicious battle. Laurent had long since stopped reading to think about this some more. 

His uncle sat beside him and asked, "Hello, Laurent. How are you doing?" 

Laurent set his book down, grateful for an excuse to stop, "I'm good." 

"Hmm," The Lord glanced him over and asked, "What did you think of the execution this morning?"

Laurent hesitated before deciding to answer honestly, "It was not what I expected." 

"No?" His uncle chuckled as if that were a silly answered, "You looked quite pale afterwards. I was afraid you would faint."

Laurent shook his head sharply, "I was fine. Guion's trial found him guilty. The execution was a serving of justice." His brother had explained this to him the day before so he would understand what to expect.

"Justice?" His uncle smiled, "Tell me what you know of justice." Laurent hesitated for a few seconds too long, so his uncle continued, "Tell me what you know of mercy." 

"Mercy is not the same as justice," Laurent answered immediately.

His uncle nodded, "But surely there is a place for mercy within justice, no?"

Laurent hesitated once more, but before his uncle could jump in again, Laurent asked, "Why are you asking me this?" 

"Because your brother made his judgement," The Lord said lightly, "and now I am asking for yours. Do you know what Guion's crime was?" 

"Treason." 

"More specific than that," The Lord smiled when Laurent did not know the answer, "Counselor Guion was caught writing letters that spoke ill of the king and hinted at a change in regime. That is all. Do you think that is enough to warrant losing his head?" 

Laurent could not find an answer within himself. Writing a letter seemed to be a small, inconsequential crime. Still, Laurent had never questioned the judgement of his brother, and he had never intended to. 

"Well, it is no matter," The Lord shrugged, "Guion is dead, and all his talk of rebellion was ultimately fruitless. Criticizing the king is a dangerous thing. Everyone knows that. Guion knew that when he did it, and he paid the price for it. One cannot speak ill of a king and expect to get away with it." 

Laurent was unsure of what to make of all this. He hesitantly said, "Kings are just men."

His uncle seemed to like this answer, because he nodded, "They are, you're right."

"So," Laurent glanced about the library incase Auguste was eavesdropping, "kings _should_ be criticized. Just like other men." 

"I would agree with you," His uncle said, though he looked a bit skeptical, "but that is not the way kings see it. If someone criticizes them, it is seen as a threat to their rule. Being a king is dangerous, you know." 

"Yes," Laurent could understand the logic in that, "but--" 

"Are you disagreeing with your brother?" His uncle asked, "Do you think he should have showed mercy?" 

"I--" Laurent could not answer. He wasn't sure he understood the question anymore.

"Don't worry, little one, I will not tell anyone," His uncle reached over and ruffled his hair, "especially not your brother." 

Laurent snapped, "Auguste would never hurt me." 

His uncle paused for a long second, then finally said in a less than convincing tone, "Yes, of course. He would never do such a thing." 

Uncertainty settled in Laurent's stomach. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but his uncle's eyes kept him pinned in his spot. 

The Lord said, "You know, Guion has a son your age. His name is Aimeric. Maybe you should play a game together sometime. There are not too many children in court, so the two of you might be glad for the company. I'm sure he would be grateful to have someone to talk to, especially after his loss." 

Laurent remembered how he had felt when his own father died, and he just said, "Oh." 

"Oh?" 

"I didn't know he was a father," Laurent shrugged. It felt like such an insignificant detail, but parents were not often executed if they had children under thirteen, especially nobles. 

His uncle patted his head condescendingly, then stood to said, "Come along, my child, it's nearly time for supper." 

"I am not hungry," Laurent replied. He remained rooted in his spot even when his uncle extended a hand to him and beckoned for him to stand. He had spent the majority of the day thinking of blood and gore; he had no appetite.

"Fine," The Lord said when he realized Laurent truly had no intention of moving, "I will bring you something to eat after supper." 

Laurent looked back to his book. The knight drove his sword into the evil king after a long battle. The damsel ran to the knight's arms and caught him in a deep kiss. Laurent imagined the scene: the lovers and the dead man, the blood and the kisses. 

He was still thinking about this when his uncle returned. 

In his hands, the Lord held a glass of pink wine and some bread. Laurent refused the bread and eyed the wine.

"You are old enough, I think. Your brother was younger than you are when he first tasted wine," The Lord said with a little shrug.

Though hesitant, Laurent accepted the glass. He felt more like a man today than he had in his entire life, so this seemed to be a natural next step. He looked down into the glass and observed the wine carefully. His mother had never let him drink, and after she died, Auguste had also refused to let him drink. But he was a man, wasn't he? He had witnessed an execution. He was aware of violence and mortality and blood. Wine was nothing compared to that. 

His first sip was small. The wine was sweet and tasted of fruit. A dessert wine, Laurent thought to himself, though he didn't really know what the difference was between that and normal wine.

The Lord smiled softly, but the hungry look in his eyes did not match. Laurent finished the wine faster than he probably should have.

And so it began.

+

Laurent went to his brother the next morning, when he found bleeding and soreness he could not explain. Auguste was already leaning over a document with a crowd of advisors surrounding him, all talking over each other. Laurent pushed his way to his brother and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. 

"Laurent," Auguste crouched a little lower to level with him, "I'm very busy right now. We're discussing the peace treaty, you know how important that is. Can you wait until lunch?" 

Laurent sighed, "Yes." 

"Okay. I will see you then, I promise," Auguste reached over to ruffle his hair, then he turned back to his work.

Laurent wordlessly exited. He tried not to be upset. _Obviously_ the king was busy. Laurent's own problems would have to come second to the problems of the kingdom. He would need to be content to wait until lunch to discuss this with Auguste. 

The Lord of Arles found him sitting in the gardens.

"Have you seen your brother today, Laurent?" The Lord asked as if nothing had happened.

Laurent just nodded. 

"I imagine he will be busy for quite some time. None of his counselors can agree on anything. Ridiculous, the entire lot of them," His uncle said, shaking his head in dismay, "Auguste ought to be more assertive of them. They could go back and forth for hours if he let them."

Disappointment washed over Laurent. 

"Maybe they will reach an early agreement," Laurent tried.

"Maybe." His uncle did not sound convinced.

Laurent stared at him for a long second. He remembered waking up in his own bed, feeling like his brain had been stuffed with cotton and his body aching.

Laurent blurted, "I'm going to tell him what you did to me," even though he did not understand what had happened. He did not know the source of the blood or the reason behind the mounting panic in his chest. He didn't know why he felt so certainly that something was wrong but could not determine what it was. He hoped that Auguste might be able to help.

The Lord looked surprised for a second, then laughed, "Sweet child." 

"I will," Laurent snapped, anger bubbling in his chest.

"I know you are feeling neglected as of late," His uncle said, "Auguste has been busy, and you have been spending a lot of time by yourself--"

"That's not--" 

"But it's not right to make ridiculous accusations just to get his attention," The Lord shook his head. 

Laurent's fingers balled into fists at his sides, "It is _not_ an accusation. It is true." He wasn't even sure what he was talking about. All he could think about was how angry he felt, how sad, how scared.

"Is it? It doesn't really matter," The Lord arched his brow, "If you go to your brother with some wild story, he will think you are lying. He will think you are desperate for his attention, and he will be angry with you. Do you want him to be angry with you?"

Laurent's whole body was trembling with rage, "He will not be angry with me."

"He will think you are lying for some attention. Honestly, Laurent, it is alarming that you cannot understand that. You are so clever, surely you must know that I am telling the truth," The Lord argued sharply. Laurent did not say anything, so his uncle continued, "Your brother is very stressed. The truce with Akielos is the most fragile it has ever been. One wrong move will send them to war. Do you want to give your brother some foolish nonsense to stress about, too?" 

Laurent shook his head. He could not think clearly, much less speak. What his uncle was saying about the truce was true, but-- well, nothing. Maybe _every_ thing he said was true.

"Your brother will not believe you, my child," The Lord said gently, "and he has enough to think about as it is. Its best you do not annoy him further." 

That was the end of the conversation. 

When Laurent went to lunch, Auguste was absent. 

"The King's counsel meeting is running late," One of the servants told him with a little, apologetic smile. 

Dread set over Laurent, and he found himself replaying his conversation with his uncle over and over. Everything he ate tasted bland, and he left the table early when his stomach began to hurt.

When Auguste did not come to find him during his afternoon lessons, Laurent realized Auguste had probably forgotten about their promised lunch. Anger laced through his veins. Auguste had never broken a promise before. 

+

Late in the evening, Auguste came to his room. He looked more exhausted than Laurent had ever seen him. 

"You missed lunch," Was the first thing Laurent said, and he immediately regretted it when he saw how it made Auguste's shoulders sag. 

His uncle had been right. He was burdening his brother with his need for attention.

"I'm sorry, La-La. Things got a little heated in the counsel chamber. I could not slip away," Auguste said tiredly. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. 

Laurent felt guilty for even bringing it up. He said, "It's fine. It wasn't a big deal." 

"I am short one counselor now that Guion is dead," Auguste sighed heavily, "which means we now have an even number of counselors. Every vote they held was a tie, it was exhausting. They could not reach an agreement on any issue." 

"You will need to get a new counselor," Laurent said cautiously. He scooted closer to Auguste, who cracked his eyes open.

"Yes," Auguste agreed, "Someone new. A fresh perspective. That would do us some good." 

"What about Uncle?" Laurent felt silly for asking, but he was the only person Laurent could think of who was qualified. 

"Uncle is second in line for the crown, remember?" Auguste nudged Laurent with his elbow, "There is a rule that those with a claim to the throne cannot be counselors to the king. It is meant to dissuade false counselors who mean to ruin the king and steal the throne for themself."

"Oh," Laurent replied. A sensible rule. Laurent wondered if their uncle would ever try to ruin Auguste. He could not imagine it.

Auguste set his arm over his eyes and was quiet for a long time. Laurent thought he might have fallen asleep. 

Then Auguste lurched. His eyes flew open and he said quickly, "You wanted to talk to me about something. Forgive me for not asking sooner: what was it that you needed to tell me this morning?" 

Laurent looked at the dark circles under Auguste's eyes, "It's nothing." 

"Are you sure?" Auguste knit his brow.

"Yeah, I, um," Laurent shrugged, "I hit the bullseye in archery yesterday." 

"Really?" Auguste smiled brightly, "That is fantastic." He looped an arm around Laurent's shoulders and dragged him into a tight hug. He kissed Laurent's forehead and said, "I am very proud of you."

When they broke off, Auguste frowned. 

"What?" 

"I have to tell you something, too," Auguste said carefully, "My counselors and I decided that the peace treaty needs drastic rewrites. We sent a message to King Theomedes of Akielos to arrange for an in-person negotiation in Marlas. Should he accept, I will be gone for a little while." 

Tensed, Laurent asked again, "What?" 

"It is necessary," Auguste said with a little nod of affirmation, "and it would only be a few weeks. When I return, there will be peace. It will be good for our country to make peace with our neighbors. Surely you understand."

Laurent did understand, though his breathing shortened. He asked, "Can I go with you?" 

"Laurent," Auguste tilted his head and gave him a patronizing look, "no. You need to stay here."

"You don't want me to come." Laurent realized the extent of how true his uncle's words had been. Auguste was too busy to be bothering with little brothers. Laurent was just another task for Auguste to manage. Why else would Auguste be leaving him in Arles? Auguste wanted the time away from Laurent so he could focus on more important things.

"I want you to stay here, where it is safer and where you can focus on your lessons," Auguste replied. 

Laurent did not meet his eyes.

"Hey," Auguste said gently, "It will not be long. I promise." 

But he had broken a promise early that same day, so Laurent did not put much faith in those anymore.

"Whatever," Laurent muttered.

"Uncle will watch over you while I'm gone," Auguste said gently, "So it's not like you will be alone." 

"Maybe I will play with Aimeric," Laurent snapped.

Auguste registered the name of Guion's child. A frown cut across his features. He asked slowly, "Why?"

"Because you just killed his dad," Laurent's words came out more venomous than he ever knew they could be, "so I figure he might want a friend." 

Auguste sat up, and Laurent suddenly felt very small. 

"Guion wrote several incriminating letters," Auguste said firmly, "Executing him was not a decision I made just for the fun of it. It was a necessary punishment." 

Laurent's voice sounded too small as he said, "Those letters were just words." 

"Just words?" Auguste arched his brows, "One day you will understand the power of 'just words.' Uncle does. Maybe he can teach you when I am away." 

"Maybe," Laurent said, "I will explain that to Aimeric. I'm sure he will understand when I tell him his father is dead because he was mean to you."

"I had Guion executed because he made threats against my life," Auguste paused before adding, "and yours."

Laurent scrunched his brow.

"He wrote about hurting you, too. I had him executed because of _that_ , Laurent. I had him executed to protect Vere and to protect _you_ ," Auguste's eyes held something unfamiliar in them as he recounted Guion's letters. It was rage, Laurent would realize later. 

When Laurent finally spoke again, it was to say, "I don't want you to leave." 

Auguste's face softened, "I know." 

But he did anyway.


	2. the boy

When Auguste returned from Marlas, it was to announce the new peace treaty.

The servants raced around the palace to prepare a feast, and Laurent remained stubbornly in his room even when the trumpets sounded to announce the arrival of the king. Laurent watched the king and his men ride through the gates from his window. He did not go downstairs to meet his brother. 

Negotiations had taken six weeks, and traveling to and from Marlas had each taken an additional week. Every inch of Laurent was anxious to see his brother, and yet he remained in his room. Auguste did not want to see him, he reminded himself. He knew Auguste must be sorry to be back in Arles, where he would have to look after Laurent.

There was a knock at Laurent's door, and for a second, Laurent was excited at the thought of his brother seeking him out. Hope sparked that maybe Auguste did not feel burdened by him. Maybe Auguste wanted to reunite just as badly as Laurent did.

"Come in," Laurent called.

His uncle entered, and Laurent sank further into his chair. The Lord smiled at him.

"It's time for supper," His uncle said, "Come along." 

"I'm not hungry," Laurent argued.

"You ought to come anyway" His uncle gestured for him to follow, "Besides, it is a special occasion. You want to see your brother, don't you? It has been a long while." 

Laurent wanted to argue, but he knew there was no way of getting out of this. It was better he reunite with Auguste in public, where Auguste would be speaking with his generals and the nobles. That way Auguste would not have to pretend to be glad to see Laurent. 

Laurent straightened his clothes and fidgeted with his hands as they walked. His uncle said lightly, "Stop that, my child." Laurent stilled his hands obediently, though his mind was still racing with uncertainty and nerves. 

When they walked into the dining hall, Auguste was surrounded by smiling nobles and loud soldiers. He looked unbothered by the long journey home. His hair was a bit messy, but he held his shoulders back and his chin high. They talked wildly about their trip to Marlas and the victory it was for Vere. Laurent was privately annoyed by their high energy and loud laughter, but he forced his features to remain pleasant as he approached. His uncle prodded him in Auguste's direction and murmured some encouragement that Laurent could hardly hear.

When Auguste spotted him, a wide smile cut across his face. Immediately, he excused himself from his entourage and hurried to Laurent. Auguste moved in for a hug, and Laurent was too surprised to lurch away, even when the urge arose. 

"I have missed you," Auguste said. 

Laurent was frozen. His tongue felt too big for his mouth as he said, "Me too." 

Auguste pulled away and ruffled Laurent's hair. 

"I'll tell you all about it tonight," Auguste said with a wide smile.

Then he was pulled back into his conversation with the nobles, and Laurent felt more alone than he had in all the weeks Auguste was gone. He watched as Auguste accepted a drink from one of his generals and laughed loudly at a joke told lowly enough that no one else could hear. 

"I want to go back to my room," Laurent murmured to his uncle.

The Lord shook his head, "Stay a little longer. Maybe you will have fun when the festivities begin."

It was far lonelier to be in the same room with Auguste than it was to be without him, Laurent quickly realized. Auguste flashed him smiled every so often, but there was always a new person coming up to congratulate him on the negotiations. Men and women alike were looking to get in the king's good graces. Laurent understood it, of course, but it frustrated him. 

Laurent wandered the ballroom. The nobles hardly paid him any attention. They were too busy laughing and conversing with the soldiers and the king. Laurent considered swiping a wine glass from an uninterested waiter, but he had stopped liking the taste when he realized it was not worth what followed.

He found his uncle again and said sharply, "I am not having fun." 

The Lord sighed and looked at Laurent with some sympathy. His gaze flicked over to Auguste, then back to Laurent, and he said gently, "I know this is difficult for you, but Auguste is busy, child." He reached up and ran his fingers through Laurent's hair softly enough that Laurent could not help but relax into his touch. The Lord continued, "He has many new responsibilities. He is still adjusting to his new role. It is a difficult job, you know."

"I know," Laurent frowned. 

His uncle promised, "When he has the time, I'm sure he will come to you, but you perhaps you should stop seeking him out. He is so busy, and you will only give him more to worry about."

Tears threatened to form in Laurent's eyes, but he forced himself not to let them. He glanced quickly around the crowded ballroom to be sure no one was looking. No one was, of course. He wished he did not recognize the logic in his uncle's words, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Even after two months of separation, Auguste had more important things to think about. 

"I'll always be here for you, little one," The Lord smiled warmly, "I'll always have time for you." 

A lump formed in Laurent's throat that he could not swallow down. 

"Okay," He replied. 

"Okay," His uncle agreed, "Now come along. I think it's time for you to go to bed." 

"I don't want to--"

"Laurent," His uncle said more sharply, "Come along. Now."

He stood still for a second longer. As much as he did not want to go with his uncle, there was nowhere else he could turn. Auguste would brush him off. Auguste was too busy to listen to Laurent cry and complain. Auguste was managing a country. Auguste was celebrating a new era of peace. He had no time for Laurent anymore.

So Laurent followed his uncle.

+

At the end of the night, when the party was winding down, the Lord found a moment alone with King Auguste. 

"Where is Laurent?" Was the first thing Auguste asked him.

"I'm afraid the child left early," The Lord said with a little shrug, "He said he was tired." 

Auguste paused to think about this. He knew his brother did not enjoy crowded rooms. Laurent much preferred solitude and reading a book, but somehow Auguste was not convinced that was the reason for his early absence. He had not been blind to the apprehension Laurent displayed at their reunion. Auguste took a sip of his wine, then said, "Laurent seems wary of me." He tried to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"Laurent is a growing up. He will be fourteen in just a few weeks," His uncle said with a little shrug, "Children often distance themselves from their parents as they enter their teenage years. A rebellious phase, if you will. He will come around eventually." 

"I am not his parent," Auguste argued.

"No?" His uncle frowned, "Your father and mother are gone. You have certainly taken on parental responsibilities. You look after him, you discipline him, you make sure he attends his lessons, and you ensure he eats and sleeps enough. Besides, you are also the king. You may technically be his brother, but in many ways, you are his authority figure. A father figure." 

Auguste frowned, "I don't want him to pull away from me." 

"It may be inevitable, your Grace, but it will not last forever. Give him a bit of space now and then. Young teenagers need time alone, to grow and learn about themselves. He is still figuring himself out," The Lord said lightly, "The boy will come to you when he is ready."

Auguste tried to remember what it was like to be that age, but it felt like an eternity ago. He remembered arguing with his mother and resenting his father for things that weren't his fault. He sank back into his seat, "I want to spend time with him, though. I've been gone for so long."

"I know, your Grace, but teenagers resist their authorities. It is part of growing up. You do not want to come across as overbearing and drive him away," The Lord suggested, "Just a little space is enough. Let him come to you, but don't force anything on him." 

Auguste sighed. 

"I know it is difficult," His uncle said a bit more light-heartedly, "Now you know how parents feel when they watch their child become a teenager."

Auguste managed a small laugh, "Maybe it will be easier next time, when it is my own child."

The Lord chuckled, then said warmly, "Oh, I doubt it gets easier. But you will love them all the same." 

Auguste nodded. He did love Laurent. If Laurent needed space to grow without the oversight of a parental figure, that was fine. Auguste would survive it, even if it made him sad.

\+ 

Laurent saw less and less of his brother in the following months. The treaty with Akielos opened a new wave of problems, it seemed. The economy took a hit due to the new competition from Akielon merchants. Trade routes needed to be established. Merchants and farmers came to the king to voice their complaints about their Akielon counterparts. 

Laurent tried to stay out of his brother's way. Auguste was busy, he reminded himself, Auguste would come to him whenever he had the time. It seemed Auguste had less and less time every passing week, because Laurent sometimes went entire days without seeing him. Sometimes multiple days in a row.

When they did see each other, it was usually at mealtimes. Auguste would gently encourage Laurent to eat more and make off-handed comments about Laurent being too skinny. Every time, Laurent felt guilty for making his brother worry. Auguste already had too much to worry about.

Sometimes Auguste would ask after Laurent's lessons, but always in small-talk.

"How is your combat?" Auguste asks, "One of my soldiers told me you hit the bullseye every time now. That is very impressive." 

"Not every time," Laurent said with a little shrug, "Thank you, though." He then shoved more food into his mouth in an attempt to stop the conversation, but Auguste pressed on.

"Do not undersell yourself. I'd like to practice with you one day," Auguste immediately corrected himself, "If you want, I mean. I would not impose on your training. If you would rather practice alone--"

"No," Laurent said immediately. It had been a long time since he had an opportunity like this, but he tried not to sound too excited as he said, "No, I would like that. It would be... good." 

Auguste smiled brightly, "Good! How about this weekend? Or, well..." He thought for a moment, and Laurent imagined he was going over his schedule in his head. Finally Auguste said, "Next Thursday. I can join you during your combat lessons." 

Laurent nodded his agreement, though he was disappointed. It was a long time to wait for a short amount of time with his brother. 

Anger bubbled in his chest, but he forced it down. It was not right of him to be angry with Auguste just for being busy. But Laurent could not help it. The anger came no matter how he tried to ignore it.

It was stupid and frustrating that Auguste was too busy for him. Laurent tried to be grown-up about it, but he hated it. The more he thought about it, the more he hated it. He hated scheduling an hour of time with his own brother a week in advance. He hated feeling like a burden. He hated that Auguste was the king. Sometimes, he hated Auguste.

Rationally, he knew it was a misdirection of his anger. It was not Auguste's fault. But that did not stop Laurent from hating him anyway.

The following day, Laurent did meet Aimeric. He was lurking in the gardens while his mother collected the remainder of her late husband's things from the palace. She had put it off for quite a long time to avoid the stares from the other courtiers, and Laurent could not blame her. Laurent watched Aimeric from a distance for a few minutes before making his decision. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he walked up to Aimeric. The boy had wild hair and wilder eyes. He glared at Laurent as Laurent approached, and when they were close enough, he said sharply, "Hello, your Highness." 

Laurent smiled at the boy's abrasiveness, "Do you play chess?" 

Aimeric stared at him for a long few seconds before finally answering, "Sure." 

"I bet I can beat you," Laurent quirked an eyebrow, and Aimeric straightened his posture at the sound of a challenge. 

Laurent set up the board in the middle of the library, where he knew people would see the two of them together. It was petty and childish, he knew, but he wanted Auguste to find out. He wanted Auguste to know that he was fraternizing with the son of an enemy. Maybe his uncle was right about him being desperate for attention, but Laurent could not help it. He wanted Auguste to be thinking about him. 

Aimeric looked suspicious the entire time Laurent set up the board, but when they sat down to play, he began to warm up. Within a few turns, Aimeric was loudly chattering and cursing every time Laurent captured one of his pieces. 

"I thought you said you knew how to play," Laurent joked hesitantly as he swiped Aimeric's rook off the board. Every time he tried to say something lighthearted, it sounded ridiculous in his ears. 

"Fuck off," Aimeric said sharply, though the smile on his face betrayed his humor.

Laurent smiled when he saw one of the noblewomen staring at him and Aimeric. He hoped she gossiped about it with every person she saw. He hoped word would get back to Auguste, and he hoped Auguste would be angry. 

Auguste's anger would be better than his indifference. 

+

After his Akielon lesson, the Lord of Arles came to find Laurent. 

"What are you reading?" He asked casually. 

Laurent shrugged, "An Akielon poem." 

"Ah," The Lord slid into the seat beside Laurent, and said, "an _epic_ poem. Tell me what it is about." 

It took Laurent a moment to translate the words he was thinking of. He said, "It is about a great warrior. He has to slay a monster terrorizing a town, and then they make him the king." 

"I see," The Lord nodded, "Is he a good king?"

Laurent looked down at the page for an answer, but could find none.

The Lord chuckled, "Ah, see that is the part they never tell you. Warriors make great kings when there is war, but what about when there is peace? Some kings are good only for wartime and have no skill for peacetime."

Laurent asked, "What makes a good peacetime king?" 

"Intelligence," His uncle suggested, "cleverness, responsibility. Peacetime kings need to be smart enough to manage the finer aspects of a kingdom. They need to be resourceful enough to know where to find the answers. They need to be strong enough that men respect them, but not so strong that they desire a war to show off their strength. Do you understand?"

Laurent nodded.

"Wartime kings are great strategists," The Lord continued, "but there is a difference between military strategy and economic strategy."

"My father was a wartime king," Laurent said. He had vivid memories of his father in his armor, leading military demonstrations.

"Yes, your father was one of the greatest in the world. He ruled with the grace and strength that he passed down to Auguste." The Lord continued, "Auguste would make a fantastic wartime king. If, of course, these were wartimes." 

Laurent's anger returned at the mention of his brother, mixed with the odd urge to jump to his brother's defense. 

"If your mother were still here, she would be able to counsel Auguste. She was incredibly clever, like you. I see so much of her in you," His uncle ruffled Laurent's hair and smiled lightly.

Laurent softened every time he thought of his mother.

"She ruled, too," Laurent said gently, "for a time." There were several years between his father's death and his mother's. During that time, she had been queen. Most of Laurent's childhood memories were included her wearing the crown.

"For longer than you think," The Lord nodded, "She was fantastic at it. Witty, brilliant, decisive. When the war was over, your father still had so much violence in him. He knew everything there was of war, but very little of managing a kingdom. He did all he could, but quite often it was your clever mother who made the decisions. Even when he wore the crown, she was the one ruling."

Laurent's heart grew heavy, "I miss her."

"Oh, but she is with you," The Lord said as he petted Laurent's hair, "She left a part of herself inside you. Her cleverness, her mind. You possess all her best qualities. The qualities that made her such a good ruler. If the worst ever did happen, I have every confidence that you would be as good a king as she was a queen."

Laurent was quiet for a long moment, trying to understand what his uncle was insinuating.

"Auguste is perfectly capable of being a peacetime king. He is just learning," Laurent said. It was difficult to speak to his uncle with any conviction. Every conversation was exhausting. Uncle always had something new to say, some new angle to spin. It made Laurent's head hurt trying to keep up.

"I hope you are right, little one," His uncle said, "Auguste should be very grateful to have you by his side." 

Those words caught Laurent off guard. Auguste was not grateful, was he? He hardly spoke to Laurent anymore. He hardly seemed to spare Laurent a moment of his time as of late.

"If I _was_ king one day," Laurent asked, trying to stress that this was only a hypothetical, "would I be a good one?" 

The Lord smiled, "I believe so."

"I will not be, of course," Laurent said quickly. His eyes darted across the room to be sure no one was listening. They were alone.

"No, of course not," His uncle shook his head, "So long as Auguste lives, he will rule." 

"Yes," Laurent repeated, "so long as he lives." 

+

The Lord of Arles visited Auguste's study the day before his scheduled training with Laurent. Auguste glanced up from the correspondence he was writing to the king of Akielos and said without lifting his pen, "Please make this quick. I am busy." 

"I thought you may want to know that Laurent has become friends with Aimeric of Fortaine," The Lord said pointedly. 

Auguste raised his head, "What are you insinuating?"

"He left your celebratory feast early after the signing of the treaty, and now he has play dates with the child of a known enemy to the crown," His uncle shook his head, "I worry about his intentions." 

"He is a _child_ ," Auguste replied easily, "He went to sleep early and he played chess with another child his age. There cannot possibly be anything malicious behind that." 

The Lord paused for a long moment, then nodded silently. He said, "Perhaps you are right." 

Silence hung between them for a few moments, and the Lord did not leave. Auguste could no longer focus on his letter.

"Why?" Auguste's curiosity got the best of him, "What did you think his intentions were?" 

"Well, no, you are right," The Lord said with a shake of his head, "It is nothing." 

Auguste frowned, "Tell me anyway." 

"Surely I'm wrong."

Auguste sat forward and insisted, "No, I want to know what you thought."

"Well," The Lord said carefully, "it seems that maybe the boy does not agree with your judgement. It is most likely nothing, but... well." 

"What?" Auguste scrunched his brow. He was becoming frustrated. 

"I have heard him speaking of becoming king one day," The Lord said. He shook his head and said, "But surely that is nothing more than a child's imagination. He must not be serious. Laurent is such a sweet child. I cannot imagine him thinking such cruel thoughts." 

"He does not understand what it means to be king," Auguste said, though there was a slight hesitation.

"He understands that it means your death," His uncle replied. 

Auguste was silent for a moment. 

"Does he?" 

"Yes, but really, your Grace," The Lord shook his head. He said, "Laurent is just a child. He does not understand what he is talking about. You cannot expect him to understand the extent of death and mortality. Whatever he says, they are just words." 

"Just words," Auguste repeated.

"Laurent may not care for a peace treaty, and he may play with the children of enemies," The Lord said gently, "but he is just a boy. You cannot hold him to the same standards as a grown man, even if he is as clever as one."

"He will not be a child forever," Auguste said slowly.

"Your Grace! Come now," The Lord scolded with a frown, "You cannot take my vile thoughts so seriously. I must be wrong; I must have misinterpreted what he was saying. He seems so gentle, so kind. I find that people usually are as they seem." 

"Yes," Auguste said, though the certainty had left him, "Usually."

"Don't think of it any longer," The Lord shook his head, "I should not have said something so horrible. It cannot be true." 

"Of course not," Auguste said.

The Lord rose from his seat and bowed just lowly enough that it was not quite disrespectful. He excused himself for the night and took his leave, and Auguste was left with his thoughts swirling. Never in his life had he ever had a reason to question the loyalty of his brother. He had never even considered what his brother thought of his rule. In his head, Laurent was a child. Laurent did not have complex thoughts about government. 

But that was not reality, Auguste told himself. Laurent was approaching fourteen. He was growing up and learning, and he was startlingly smart. Smart enough and witty enough that he may one day pose a genuine threat to Auguste's reign, as well as his life. 

But surely that was not true. Surely.

The next day, it was time to train with Laurent. 

Determined not to give the matter any more thought, he walked into the training ring with a smile on his face and his sword held loosely in hand. Laurent was already there, drawing back his bow and concentrating hard enough on the target that his brow furrows. Auguste could not help but smile wider. He looked so much like their mother sometimes.

Then Laurent released the string, and the arrow slammed into the bullseye, alongside two other arrows already closely packed into the small red ring. 

Laurent spotted Auguste just as he was nocking another arrow. He smiled at Auguste, and for a second, he looked like the child that Auguste remembered. Then he hit another bullseye, and Auguste took note of how deep the arrows went into the wooden target.

Was it enough force to break skin? How long would it be before Laurent's arrows could tear through armor, muscle, and organs?

Auguste watched his brother more closely.

"You're late!" Laurent called. He smiled so sweetly, Auguste nearly forgot himself.

"My apologies," Auguste forced himself to match Laurent's excitement as he made his way to stand beside his little brother, "Show me how far you can shoot." 

He watched Laurent sink the bullseye in the furthest target

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i steal inspo for the regent from Iago of Othello? maybe so.
> 
> hi everyone! thank you so much for reading. sorry if all the set-up is boring, but i promise there will be more action in the next update (should be up on sunday!)
> 
> lmk what you think!


	3. the knife

Laurent became friends with Aimeric during the next week. Aimeric was a bit more energetic than Laurent was and they rarely matched energy, but Laurent enjoyed having a friend more than he would admit. Aimeric taught him new card games and told jokes and laughed at the poor attempts Laurent made at joking.

Sometimes, they would pass Auguste in the hallways or see him at mealtimes. Laurent noticed Auguste watching him differently: more critical, more cautious, more apprehensive. It made Laurent smile.

By the time Laurent turned fifteen, there was a considerable gap between himself and Auguste. He had moved up to a stronger bow, and he'd taken up swordplay, which he noticed made Auguste frown. For the life of him, he could not imagine why his brother was not proud.

His uncle stopped a month after he turned fifteen. Laurent was not sorry for it. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he avoided his uncle as much as he could. He had not realized how much time he spent with his uncle until he stopped. He also had not realized the damage that was being done to him. Being separated from his uncle forced him to think about what had happened between them. It made Laurent sick to his stomach. 

The longer he was away from his uncle, the more he began to relax. He allowed himself to enjoy his lessons and find fun in games. He steadily approached sixteen, the age he would be considered a man.

"You're too small to win a sword fight," Aimeric told him one day while Laurent was training.

"I am not. I'm fast. I could win," Laurent argued, though the sword felt awkward in his hands. 

"That's bullshit. Strong always beats fast in a sword fight, everyone knows that. Anyone you fight would crush you," Aimeric retorted, "You're never going to be better than Auguste." 

"Why would I want to be--"

"Because," Aimeric raised an eyebrow, "if you ever want to beat him, you need to be better than him." 

Laurent hesitated. He said sharply, "Why would I want to beat him?" 

"In case you ever want to be king," Aimeric shrugged.

Laurent rolled his eyes, "You're being stupid." 

"You're always stupid."

"I am not. I'm smarter than you," Laurent practiced a complicated maneuver, "and I _could_ win in a sword fight. Maybe not against someone like Auguste, but--"

"You could not win against anyone," Aimeric argued, then he broke into a smile and said excitedly, "I got you a present. For your birthday." 

"Well, you're late." Laurent hated how Aimeric always jumped from topic to topic.

"Shut up. Here," Aimeric went to his knapsack and withdrew a thin box. There was a red bow tied around it more neatly than Laurent would have thought Aimeric could manage. Laurent figured maybe Loyse tied the bow for him. Aimeric was too jittery.

Laurent opened the box cautiously. Inside was a knife. The blade was only five inches long, but it was sharpened to perfection. The hilt was decorated with an intricate carving of criss-crossing and winding lines. Laurent took the knife from the box. It was heavier than he expected, and the blade was well-balanced. This was no decoration; as beautiful as it was, this blade was intended for a fight.

"You would do better with a knife than a sword," Aimeric said with a shrug, "You can get in close and strike fast. Swordsmen won't even see you coming." 

"That's a dirty fight," Laurent said without conviction. He was entranced with the way the knife felt in his hand. 

"So?" 

Laurent looked up at him, "Thank you. I like it."

Aimeric smiled, "Good. Now come on, I'm hungry and it's fuckin' cold." 

+

Laurent did show a talent for knife fighting. 

His instructor showed him a few basic moves, and when he mastered those with ease, showed him the more complex. He learned to use thinner blades to throw, then he learned to use a parrying dagger alongside his sword. He learned to like knives more that he ever liked his bow or sword.

He was not quite as accurate with his throwing knives as he was with his bow, but he was determined to get there. He put a target on the wall of his bedroom to practice late at night when sleep evaded him. It was a delicate art. It required the right amount of force, spin, and accuracy.

Sometimes a throw was perfectly accurate but hardly had enough force behind it to stick into the wall. Sometimes there was so much force it embedded hilt-deep into the wall several feet away from the target. Each one of those frustrated Laurent immensely, but the more he practiced, the less his missed.

Auguste was not amused at his brother's new hobby.

"It is an assassin's weapon. Or a street thug's," Auguste said when he looked at the blade Aimeric had given him. His eyes traced over the patterns and the make of it. Laurent thought it was a very tasteful weapon, but evidently, Auguste did not agree. He said shortly, "It is not fitting of a prince to use something so crude." 

Laurent snapped, "And swords are so much better?" 

"A sword fight is honorable," Auguste said firmly, "A knife fight is not."

"What difference does it make if you're just trying to kill someone?" 

"Laurent!" Auguste looked surprised, "It is not about 'just trying to kill someone.' Swordplay is an honorable tradition. Great warriors master the sword." 

"You think you're a great warrior then?" Laurent bit. He knew he was about to get too mean, but he could not help himself, "You think you're better than me just because you use a sword?" 

"I did not say that. You're being obtuse," Auguste was getting frustrated now, too.

"Yes, you did! You always act like you're better than me. You are the _worst_ ," Laurent could feel years of anger bubbling over, "You act so high and mighty, and you're not even that great. You don't know the first thing about being a peacetime king, all you know is swords and fighting and war. You're so _stupid_. You--" 

"Stop!" Auguste raised his voice, and Laurent froze. Auguste took a deep breath, then said only a little bit more calmly, "You are acting like such a child. It's unbecoming and ridiculous. I expect better from you." 

Laurent was so angry, he almost screamed obscenities at his brother. How dare he expect better? They hardly even spoke. Why should Auguste get to have any sort of expectations of him? Why should Auguste get to judge him? Laurent swiped his knife back from Auguste's hands.

"Whatever," He snarled, then said mockingly, " _your Grace._ "

Auguste watched him leave without moving to stop him, and Laurent was glad for it. Their uncle was standing in the doorway, seemingly stunned by the interaction. Before Laurent could get out the door, the Lord blocked Laurent's path and said, "I think you ought to apologize, young man. That is no tone to take with your king." 

Auguste sighed, "Uncle, really it's not--"

"No, he's right," Laurent whirled around to face his brother again and said viciously, "What I meant to say was: _fuck_ you." With that, Laurent stormed past his uncle and into the hall.

He heard Auguste say tiredly, "He is just at that age. It's no matter." 

And his uncle say after some delay, "Yes, I'm sure that's all." 

That only made Laurent angrier. He was _not_ 'just at that age.' Auguste undermined every single thing he did. Auguste didn't even care to give him the time of day, and he still thought he had the right to criticize Laurent. Anger swelled in Laurent as he tightened his grip on his knife. He hated his brother so much sometimes. 

Laurent pouted in the library until well after dark. He read Akielon epic poems and muttered Akielon curse words to the warriors on the pages. Those warriors fought with swords. Sometimes spears, in the older stories, but usually swords. Somehow, Laurent did not think his brother would have the same issue with spears as he did with knives.

Laurent imagined himself as a warrior. Killing. He wondered if he would be able to do it. He wondered how it would feel. Terrible, he imagined. A truly horrible feeling. Repulsive, disgusting. Powerful.

Eventually, his candles burned low and he found himself suppressing yawns, so he deemed it time to go to bed. 

He nearly stumbled into Aimeric on his way back to his chambers. 

"What are you doing here?" He snapped, venom still on his tongue, "It's late, go home." 

Aimeric just smiled and continued on his way, which made Laurent roll his eyes. When he glanced in the direction Aimeric had come from, he realized Aimeric had just been inside the Lord's chambers. 

Something about that did not feel right.

Laurent tried to follow Aimeric, but he had disappeared. Strange. Laurent found himself wondering what Aimeric would be doing in the Lord's chambers late at night. Perhaps, Laurent thought, the same thing Laurent used to do in the Lord's chambers late at night. That thought made panic dart through his veins. If he told Auguste, would Auguste believe him? How would he explain knowing if he did not also explain that is happened to him, too? He couldn't. Auguste would never believe it. 

In a trance of thought, Laurent walked toward his chambers. He hardly registered anything around him, allowing his muscle memory to bring him to his doorway. He was walking slower than usual, which he only registered because when he looked up expecting to already be in his room, he was hardly halfway there. He huffed and began to walk faster, but was lost in thoughts quickly.

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Laurent lurched. Instinctively, his hand went to his knife, but his fingers trembled too badly to hold it. It clattered to the ground loudly.

"Sorry, your Highness," The man said hurriedly, "You have to come with me." 

"No," Laurent pulled himself free from his grip, "Who are you?" The man was wearing the uniform of the kingsguard, but Laurent's heart was still pounding from his fright. He picked up his knife and held it in front of him.

"Prince Laurent," The man said urgently, "I need to get you to your room where it is safe. Put away the knife." 

Laurent stared at the man, "Safe?" 

"Come on," The man pushed Laurent to get him moving, "I will explain when we are in your chambers." The man drew his sword as he herded Laurent down the hall and kept it readied at his side. 

Once they were inside Laurent's chambers and the lock was turned, Laurent asked, "What the fuck?" 

The man stood close to the door, "My name is Jord. I'm going to protect you." 

"From what?" Laurent was suddenly feeling wild, "What happened?" 

Jord looked at him for a long few seconds, "It is difficult to say." 

Laurent's heart pounded too fast. He could not draw in a complete breath. He stumbled over his words as he demanded, "Tell me. I demand that you tell me." 

Jord looked to the door, then back to Laurent, "Your brother is hurt. There is an assassin in the palace." 

Laurent sank into his desk chair when his legs gave out. He shook his head. His throat was dry, and he could not form words. 

"He is alive," Jord promised him, but Laurent knew he had no way of knowing for sure. 

"Why--" Laurent swallowed hard, "Why are you here? You should be with him." 

"He has plenty of guards with him. Do not worry," Jord assured him, "He asked me to stay with you. To make sure you are safe. It was the first thing he said after he realized what had happened: protect Laurent, he said. I promised him I would." 

Laurent shook his head. His eyes were watering and he felt nauseous. He muttered, "Why?" 

"He was concerned for you," Jord knit his brow.

"But I said..." Laurent bit back a sob, "I said horrible things to him today. Why would he-- why?" 

Jord looked a bit uncomfortable, "He loves you." 

Laurent put his head in his hands and cried. 

Though he looked like he would rather not, Jord walked over and patted him once on the shoulder before Laurent shouted at him to get his hands off. Jord remained silent and stationed at the door all night.

+

Jord explained what happened when Laurent was calm enough. An assassin had masqueraded as a guard, poisoned Auguste, and waited until he was weakened to pull a knife on him. A guard had taken the knife for him, but there was still the issue of the poison. 

"Will he survive it?" Laurent hardly heard himself ask the question.

"I believe so," Jord said with a nod, "Seems a bit much to give a man a lethal dosage and then stab him, no? It must not have been a strong poison if the assassin did not trust it."

Laurent did not completely agree. It seemed _stupid_ for an assassin not to ensure a lethal dosage. Why bother with a poison at all if not to kill? It was sloppy and amateurish.

"I want to see him," Laurent said.

"You will," Jord told him, "when he is well enough."

That was not for another three days. 

Laurent spent the entirety of those three days locked in his room and replaying his conversation with Auguste in his head. He had been more cruel than necessary. His anger had gotten the better of him, and he hated himself for it. He hoped more than anything else that those were not the last words he ever said to his brother. 

On the fourth day, Jord woke him up early. 

"King Auguste is asking for you, your Highness," Jord told him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Suddenly fully awake, Laurent asked, "He wants to see me?" 

Jord looked at him odd, then just said, "Yes. He asked for you." 

Laurent dressed faster than he ever had and hurried to the physicians chambers with Jord, who apparently was not allowed to leave his side. Laurent could not even spare the energy to be annoyed with him about it. He bordered on a run the entire way to the physician, and by the time he arrived, he was nearly out of breath.

Auguste was lying on a white cot and wearing thin robes. Though he looked sickly and pale, he smiled when he saw Laurent. 

A lump former in Laurent's throat, and he tried as best he could not to start crying again. He did not want to look so ridiculous in front of his brother. It was quite bad enough that Jord had seen him cry. Auguste did not need to see it, too. Laurent was determined to look brave as he approached his brother. 

"Hey," Auguste said in a small voice, "there you are." 

"Hi," Laurent said, and his voice cracked over the word. He blinked quickly and dropped into the seat beside Auguste's bed. 

Auguste reached over and ran his fingers through Laurent's hair, "Jord took care of you?" 

Laurent nodded. He sniffled a little. 

"Hey," Auguste said again, his eyes impossibly warm, "it's okay. Pascal says I'm going to be perfectly alright by the end of the week."

"I'm sorry," Laurent said too quickly. Tears threatened to spill, and he blinked them away, "I should not have said all those things to you. I was just upset and annoyed. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." 

"I'm sorry, too," Auguste said quickly, "I was being abrasive."

Laurent sat on the edge of the bed and put his arms around his brother. Auguste smiled and chuckled weakly, and he hugged Laurent back tightly enough that Laurent could hardly breathe. Laurent did not dare to break the hug, no matter how uncomfortable it was. 

"Stay here for a little while," Auguste said, adjusting to give Laurent space on the bed beside him. He put an arm around Laurent's shoulder and held him close to his chest. 

"Okay," Laurent said softly. He had not been this close to his brother in... it must have been years by now. It felt strangely foreign for something so familiar. 

"Do you have a book?" Auguste asked, "Maybe you can read to me."

"Jord can get one for me," Laurent said with a pointed look at Jord, who was still lingering in the doorway. Jord nodded and slipped out of the room.

"I am glad you're safe," Auguste said, "I don't know what I would do if you were not." 

Laurent set his head in the crook of his brother's neck, "Did they get him? The assassin?" 

"Yes," Auguste replied, "but he would not give up his employer, and we lost his knife." 

"His knife?" Laurent scrunched his brow.

"He was unarmed when he was found," Auguste frowned, "but he did not make it off the palace grounds. Perhaps when we find the blade, we will find a clue to the employer." 

Laurent nodded, "I hope you find it soon." 

"As do I," Auguste ruffled Laurent's hair.

Laurent stayed with his brother for the majority of the day, until Paschal told him to let Auguste rest. Even then, he put up a fight, but Auguste promised him they would play cards the next day, so Laurent accepted the orders. For the first time in quite some time, Laurent left an interaction with his brother feeling light and happy.

When Laurent got back to his chambers, his knife was missing from its drawer. 

He checked under his bed and under his pillow. He rifled through his wardrobe and through his desk. To no avail. The knife was gone.

At first, he did not think too much of it. He could have misplaced it in a thousand places around the palace. Perhaps he'd left it in the training arena or in the pocket of a discarded jacket. 

Weeks passed, and Laurent did not find his missing knife. He tried not to be disappointed. He liked his gift from Aimeric, but it was not the only weapon he had. Not practicing with that knife gave him more time to improve his throwing, which was needed. By the end of the third week without the knife, he was hitting consistently within the target and an inch deep. It was not quite as accurate or forceful as he wanted, but it was an improvement nonetheless.

Auguste was able to go back to his duties with relative ease, but the event had clearly shaken him.

Laurent noticed how Auguste's eyes would go to the doors every time there was a stray noise. He held his sword by the hilt when he walked down the halls, and he'd gotten a wine-taster. If Laurent had known earlier that those were a thing, he might have wanted one, too.

One afternoon, while lingering in the library, Laurent overheard a conversation between his uncle and his brother.

"You are paranoid," Their uncle said gently, "No one would be stupid enough to launch a second attempt so soon after the first. All your guards are on high alert. Nothing is going to happen." 

"It will not be safe until we know who is responsible," Auguste argued, which Laurent thought was sensible. He slipped behind a nearby bookshelf and sat to eavesdrop. He knew it was wrong of him, but he also knew Auguste would not let him be present for an adult conversation, so this was the next best thing.

"I agree," The Lord said.

"All the investigations have been pointless," Auguste sounded more stressed than Laurent had heard in a while, "No progress has been made since the day of the attack. How is that possible?"

"I think, your Grace, you would be foolish not to consider the possibility that this was an inside job," The Lord said, frowning. He was always frowning nowadays.

"I cannot imagine who might have done such a thing," Auguste shook his head, "My claim to the throne has been undisputed. I've just ensured peace with our centuries-long enemy. I have spared us another war. I cannot imagine who would wish ill upon me." 

Laurent was inclined to agree. Public perception of his brother was overwhelmingly positive.

"There are always those who benefit from the death of a king," Their uncle said with a small shrug, "It may not be obvious at first, but they exist. Someone who may disagree with you on something. Someone who wants a different king who will support their agenda. I do not know... Someone who wishes for a regime change."

Auguste was quiet for a long moment to think this over, and Laurent took this as an opportunity to step out from his hiding spot and enter the conversation. Just as he crossed the library floor toward his brother, Auguste said slowly, "I suppose there are some who come to mind, but.." He trailed off when he saw Laurent approaching.

Laurent saw a strange look in his brother's eye. Wariness, maybe? But that was not quite right. It was not fear, but something adjacent, certainly. Concern, fear, apprehension. Some combination of those that Laurent could not quite name.

"Hello, little one," The Lord said warmly, "Are you doing well this afternoon?" 

"I am," Laurent nodded. He studied his brother's face some more. The look in Auguste's eyes was not dread, but it held the same weariness. 

"That's good to hear," The Lord said, "We were just talking about--" 

"About the botched assassination," Auguste finished for him. He narrowed his eyes just a bit as he said, "Have you heard anything, Laurent? Any gossip, any rumors?" 

Laurent shook his head, "No one seems to know anything. It is strange." 

"Yes, very strange," Auguste agreed, but Laurent got the sense it was not entirely sincere. Something was off about the way Auguste was studying him. Auguste had not looked at him this hard in months, and it made Laurent shift his weight with discomfort. Auguste must have noticed, because he changed his tone to be a bit lighter, "How is your training going? Jord tells me you've taken to throwing knives as well."

"I am not so good at it yet," Laurent admitted, "but one day I will be."

"You are confident," Auguste said it as if this were a bad thing.

"Only ambitious," Laurent said with a shrug, then a bit too sharply, "Is that so wrong?"

Auguste sat forward, "Unchecked ambition _is_ wrong. And dangerous. It is not right to put your ambition above morals. People are often hurt by those with a surplus of ambition." 

"Oh," Laurent was not sure what to make of that.

"I am only warning you," Auguste said, but his tone heavy, "Do not be overly ambitious."

"We are talking about knife-throwing," Laurent reminded him, because it seemed Auguste was talking about something entirely different.

"Of course we are," Auguste nodded, "but consider it a life lesson, little brother."

Laurent then recognized the look in his brother's eyes as suspicion. Auguste was suspicious of him.

"I do not have an abundance of ambition," Laurent argued, "I promise." 

Auguste cracked a smile, "I know. Now go to bed, Laurent, it is far too late for you to be awake." 

+

With the increased security in the palace, Laurent was not allowed to go anywhere without Jord, which Laurent thought was entirely too much. He complained to Jord about it whenever he had a spare moment, and Jord always replied with a bored, "It's for your own protection, your Highness." 

The few moments Laurent was able to slip away from Jord were the only highlight to his dull days. He liked seeing how frustrated he could make Jord. He had a way of scrunching his face when he was mad that always made Laurent laugh. 

Unfortunately, Jord was learning all of Laurent's favorite spots, so it was nearly impossible to evade him for too long. 

One of Laurent's favorite places was, of course, the library. He spent the majority of his afternoons wandering the tall shelves until he found something he had not already read, then collapsing onto the stack of cushions on the floor at the very back of the room. He would curl up like a house cat and read for hours.

Laurent fell into a plush red cushion with his new book in hand, but stopped when he felt the cushion shift around something solid beneath him. He shifted his weight around the cushion to be certain it was there, then huffed his annoyance.

Probably some servant stashed a broken dish or something beneath the cushions thinking no one would ever find it. Just Laurent's luck he sat on top of it.

Laurent got up and unceremoniously kicked over the cushion. Sure enough, underneath it was a swath of fabric wrapped around some object. Laurent crouched down and picked up the object, which when he held it, he realized was no broken dish.

Laurent removed the fabric and stared down at the object. His stomach dropped, and nausea rose.

It was, without a doubt, his knife.

His fingers shook as he picked up the hilt. It was his. Blood marred the blade, hastily swiped away but still leaving residue along the blade and in the grooves of the hilt. Laurent's heart pounded in his chest. His breathing was quick and his mind raced. 

It was impossible. It didn't make sense.

Laurent's mind darted to the assassin's missing knife. It was impossible that they were one in the same, and yet, that is what it looked like. A hastily stashed, bloodied knife. It was not a good look. 

Laurent racked his memory to be certain he'd had his knife the day of the botched assassination. When exactly had it gone missing? He was almost certain it had been after the assassination attempt. A few days after, even. It was impossible, and yet there was his knife, covered in blood and hidden precariously.

"Your Highness?" Jord called.

Laurent scrambled to tuck the knife into this inside coat pocket. He called, "Coming!"

He walked over to meet Jord and put on a blank face. He asked, "What is it?"

Jord said, "Supper."

The knife suddenly felt heavier in his pocket.

"Um," He said, then coming up with no excuse to skip supper, he muttered, "Alright."

He followed Jord to the dining hall, very aware of how incriminating the knife in his pocket was. If anyone else had found it, he would be done for. He was lucky. Unbelievably lucky. One of the gods must have been looking out for him. Laurent could not believe it. He muttered a quick prayer to whatever god had guided him, then an apology to the god for not praying more often.

If someone had really wanted to get rid of it, why hadn't they hidden it behind the stacks of books? Or between the shelves and the walls? Under the logs in the fireplace? Inside a thin-necked vase, the kind no one would be able to reach into without breaking? It did not make sense. In fact, it was ridiculous. It had been hidden in a spot where it was almost certain to be discovered quickly, even though the room was full of better hiding spaces.

It was intentional, Laurent realized. Someone had wanted the knife to be found. They'd hidden it just well enough for it to be believable but not well enough that it would not be found relatively quickly. Someone had planted it there, on purpose. 

Someone had wanted to frame him, he realized as he found his seat at the table.

It was a difficult conclusion to come to because of how stupid it sounded. Laurent did not have enemies, not that he knew of, at least. Yet the knife was recognizable. Auguste and the majority of the nobles knew it belonged to him. If his knife was found blood-stained and hidden, they would suspect him of arming the assassin. They would think it was _his_ assassin.

"Are you alright?" Auguste nudged him with his elbow. Laurent realized he had been staring at the cheese platter without speaking for several minutes.

"Yes," Laurent said quickly, "just a little nauseous."

"Are you sick? You do look a little pale." Auguste reached forward to feel Laurent's forehead, and Laurent lurched away. Auguste dropped his hand awkwardly to his lap.

"Sorry," Laurent said quickly, "You startled me."

Auguste shook his head, "It's alright."

"I just..." Laurent shook his head, "I don't really feel well."

"Do you want--"

But Laurent was standing up and hurrying out of the room.

Laurent stopped in the middle of the hallway to catch his breath. He hadn't been running, but he could not breathe. He could not find enough air to fill his lungs. He heaved and coughed and hyperventilated. His hand went to his chest, and he could feel his heart thumping at the speed of a hummingbird's wings.

What would Auguste have thought if Laurent's knife was found, covered in blood, just weeks after the assassin's blade went missing? An assassin using their employer's weapon was not unheard of. At the very least, it would have been a connection between Laurent and the failed assassin. That was not a connection that would go over well.

Auguste had already been suspicious of him before there was any evidence. If his knife had been found in such a state, it would have been a swift trial.

Would Auguste sentence him to die? Laurent was not certain he wanted to know the answer. But there was no mercy for treason. Auguste had said that.

In framing him, someone was trying to get him sentenced to death. Someone wanted him dead. Laurent tried to wrap his head around that. Someone wanted _him_ dead. Someone wanted him _dead_.

He spent the next several minutes catching his breath.

Someone wanted him dead. He needed to figure out who it was. Someone who knew how to get to the knife. Someone who could move around the palace easily. 

Aimeric. He had seen Aimeric just before the assassination attempt, and the guards never noticed children.

But Laurent was of the firm belief that Aimeric was not smart enough to make such an intricate plan so far in advance, nor was he brave enough to truly think it would work. It was a ridiculous plan. It took confidence to try such a thing. Or stupidity, but Laurent did not want to make a habit of underestimating people, so he would call it confidence. 

Maybe Aimeric was involved, but he could not be the only one. He gave Laurent the knife, yes. He had been inside Laurent's chambers enough times to know where to find it, yes. But there was something missing. There was something Laurent had not considered. A variable he was not aware of. 

"Laurent!" A voice called into the hallway after him. 

Laurent turned to see his uncle, and his memory clicked. Aimeric had been leaving his uncle's chambers just before the assassination attempt. Laurent scrambled to rationalize this. He had not been able to do so while it was happening, but now he had more information. Now he knew of Aimeric's involvement. 

If Laurent were executed as a traitor, his uncle would be next in line. 

The assassin, Laurent realized, was never meant to succeed. It looked sloppy because it was meant to appear to be the work of an amateur. A child, even. It was only meant to ensure Laurent's death. There was only one person who benefited from Laurent's death.

"Are you alright, child?" The Lord asked as he approached, "Auguste said you were feeling sick. Should I take you to the physician?" 

Laurent shook his head, "I feel better now." 

"That's good," The Lord said with a little nod.

"Yeah," He straightened a little bit. 

Jord was following closely behind the Lord, waiting to escort Laurent back to his chambers. As much as he disliked having a guard, Jord's presence did give Laurent the confidence to say what he did next. 

"I found my knife today," Laurent said. He watched his uncle react. It was tiny, but it was enough to convince Laurent he was right. He grit his teeth and said, "I lost it a little while ago, so I was glad to find it again."

"I see," The Lord said shortly, "That's good."

"I just thought you would like to know that I have it now," Laurent said. 

"Yes, I'm glad to hear it," The Lord plastered on a smile.

"I know," Laurent said.

He hoped his uncle understood what he was really trying to say: 

_I know what you did, and I am going to destroy you for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! i appreciate all your kudos and comments :))


	4. the flower

In the months leading up to Laurent's sixteenth birthday, the Lord of Arles doubled down on his tricks. 

Rumors had been started in the court: Prince Laurent wanted to usurp crown, Prince Laurent was planning to kill the king, Prince Laurent was conniving and scheming. People Laurent had never met voiced their opinions, which ranged from _the little brat ought to be taught some respect_ to _Prince Laurent has a superior strategic mind and would make a fine peacetime ruler._ Laurent did all he could to ignore the whispers exchanged when he passed in the halls.

Auguste must have heard the rumors, too, because although he smiled whenever he saw Laurent, he also looked weary. 

Laurent waited until his sixteenth birthday to act. 

It was the year that he was technically a man, and though nobody around him acted like it, that would make a world of difference. His father had begun to garner supporters when he was sixteen. The Akielon epic poems told of heroes becoming great by the time they were sixteen. Laurent let his new age fill him with confidence, even if in the back of his mind, he knew it was undeserved. 

At breakfast, Auguste got up from his chair to greet Laurent. He clasped Laurent on the shoulders. It was the warmest gesture he had given Laurent in quite some time, and it was not even very warm. Auguste's smile was strained as he said, "Happy birthday, little brother. Although not so little anymore, no? You are nearly a man." 

"I _am_ a man," Laurent argued, aware that compared to Auguste's twenty-eight, he was still very young. 

Auguste must have been thinking the same thing, because he laughed just a bit. It was strained, but authentic. 

Laurent understood now what he had not understood when he was younger. Their uncle wanted them to hate each other. He wanted them to ruin each other, but Laurent would not allow it. Not any longer. 

"I wanted to ask something of you," Laurent said just as Auguste began to return to his seat at the table.

Auguste turned back to him, then glanced carefully to the nobles sitting at the table. All of them were watching. Auguste said, "Of course. Ask."

"I request an audience before the Counsel." 

Auguste went very still. He studied Laurent's features with the same expression Laurent had become accustomed to seeing on his brother's face: suspicion. 

"You request an audience before me and my counselors?" Auguste asked. His voice was calm, but Laurent noted the panic that flashed for just a second behind his eyes. Auguste was not just suspicious, he was worried. 

Laurent nodded, "This afternoon, if it pleases you." 

"I see no reason not," Auguste said, very nearly frowning at this point, "After lunch, my counselors and I will be glad to meet with you."

Laurent understood his apprehension. Sixteen was the age at which one could argue their claim to the throne. Although still too young to inherit, at sixteen, children were allowed to argue that upon their twenty-first birthday, they take the place of the current ruler. It was normally done in the cases of incompetent or elderly kings, but it was not a stretch to see where Auguste's imagination was going.

As he found his seat, Laurent noticed his uncle watching him with a pleased smile. Laurent smiled back. Let him believe he's won. Just for a bit longer.

The day passed slowly as Laurent waited for his meeting with the Counsel. Anxiety ate at him, which he found quite ridiculous. He should not be nervous to speak to his brother. But that was the result of his uncle's scheming, Laurent reminded himself, and that would all end after today.

When he threw a knife at the target on his wall, this time, it stuck three inches into the dead center. He imagined his uncle standing in front of the target, but reminded himself to slow down. One step at a time. He needed his brother's trust before he could kill his uncle. He drew his second knife and threw it.

"Your Highness," Jord called from the doorway, "The Counsel is waiting for you."

Laurent straightened his jacket and wiped his hands on his pants. He asked, "Is my hair okay?"

Jord glanced over it and answered noncommittally, "Yes." 

"Jord," Laurent frowned.

"It looks the same as always, your Highness."

Laurent sighed. That would have to be adequate. 

He clasped his hands in front of him so they wouldn't shake. Entering the counsel chamber was overwhelming. He took a deep breath as he took his place in the center of the room and looked onto the two rows of counselors in front of him. Auguste sat at the center, wearing his crown and royal cloak.

"Prince Laurent II of Vere, what would you like to discuss with the counsel?" Auguste asked. He looked every inch a king in that moment. His head held high and his posture rigidly straight. The sword at his side was less imposing that the sharpness of his expression. Laurent gathered his courage.

"I wish to discuss my claim to the Veretian throne, your Grace," He said carefully and clearly. The courtiers each reacted with barely contained surprise. They had heard the rumors of Laurent's ambition, too.

The Lord was not in the room, but Laurent imagined his uncle would be pleased at the discourse those words brought.

Auguste said firmly, "Let it be known, brother, that I do not intend to give up my place."

"You misunderstand," Laurent replied, "I am not here to argue my claim, I am here to renounce it."

Auguste studied his face for a long while. When he finally spoke, he said, "Are you certain?"

"Completely," Laurent said with a nod, "I have never wanted the throne. I am not deaf; I've heard the rumors of my alleged plans for treason. I would like to put them to rest. I do not want to oppose your rule, not ever."

"What--" Auguste regarded him with uncertainty, "-- _do_ you want?"

Laurent clasped and unclasped his hands, "It is illegal for those with a claim to the throne to be advisors to the king, to dissuade false counselors." 

"You want to be an advisor?" Auguste asked in disbelief. There was a touch of excitement behind his eyes.

Laurent straightened his shoulders. Jittery energy coursed through him as he said, "If it pleases you, I would like to one day sit on your counsel. I believe I could be of use, and I'm certain my tutors would vouch for me. I've been studying, and--"

"Yes," Auguste broke out, nodding like a madman, "Of course, you would be a valuable asset to my counsel. I will allow you to study under one of my current advisors until you reach the age of eighteen. Then should you prove yourself to be deserving of a position, it will be yours."

A genuine smile cut across Laurent's face. He bowed graciously and said, "Thank you, your Grace."

Auguste looked to his advisors and asked, "Lord Herode? Would you be willing to let my brother shadow you in your duties as a counselor?"

Lord Herode nodded, then looked to Laurent with a warm smile, "Yes, your Grace, of course."

Laurent's smile did not leave his face as he exited the chambers. His uncle was waiting on the other side of the doors, along with Jord.

"It went well, I presume?" The Lord asked.

Still smiling, Laurent answered as sweetly as he could manage, "Yes, my Lord, it did. I am no longer the prince of Vere."

His uncle just stared at him for a few seconds before asking, "Come again?" 

"I renounced my title," Excitement bubbled out of Laurent. He was certain he looked ridiculous, but the shock and anger on his uncle's face made it impossible to hide his giddiness.

"Oh," The Lord said slowly, "I hope you are happy with that decision." 

His voice was even enough, but his eyes betrayed his anger. Laurent could understand. The Lord had been manipulating them for years only to have all his work undone in a day by a sixteen-year-old. It could not have been a pleasant feeling. Thinking about his uncle's anger and disappointment only made Laurent smile wider.

"I am," Laurent replied. Unspoken: _checkmate_.

Laurent continued down the hall with Jord and let himself laugh a little.

"You're in a good mood," Jord noted suspiciously. 

"We are celebrating, Jord," Laurent said brightly.

"Are we?" 

"Yes," Laurent affirmed, "because I am going to win." 

Jord looked at him for a while, then just shook his head.

Laurent was not blind to the obvious issue with his plan. Now that he had renounced his claim, their uncle was next in line for the throne. It was a dangerous gamble, but it was necessary to gain Auguste's trust. No doubt their uncle would try to dispose of Auguste, and Laurent needed to be as close as possible to his brother in order to intercept the threats.

As he walked back to his chambers, he set his shoulders back and let himself relax just a bit. He could worry in the morning, but today, he would celebrate a victory over his uncle.

+

Laurent arrived at his brother's doors before light the next morning. He knew Auguste often woke early, and he wanted to catch him before the day began.

The guards outside looked at him strangely, then one slipped inside to tell Auguste of his presence.

"I wanted to ask if you'd have breakfast with me," Laurent said, which made Auguste arch his brow.

"Of course," Auguste said with a little nod. He stepped out of the doorway yo allow Laurent inside, then sent for one of the guards to bring breakfast. When he turned back to Laurent, he asked, "Is there something in particular you would like to discuss?"

"No," Laurent sat on the chaise, and Auguste fell into the seat across from him. Then he frowned and said, "Well, yes." 

Auguste nodded, "Go on." 

"The rumors you heard about me," Laurent began. He fiddled mindlessly with the fabric under him, "They were not true." 

Auguste looked him over, "I see that now." 

"I would never do anything to hurt you," Laurent shook his head quickly. He could not quite bring himself to look at his brother, "and I never even wanted that stupid crown. It was all a lie."

Auguste slipped out of his chair to crouch in front of Laurent. He said, "Tell me what is on your mind." 

_It was Uncle._ Laurent itched to say something, but he knew the new trust he had with Auguste was delicate. If Laurent got too confident and made too wild of claims, Auguste would pull back. He would be forced to consider whether he believe Laurent or their uncle, and Laurent was not ready to hear the answer quite yet.

He wondered briefly if Auguste would believe him if he explained what their uncle did to him. But he decided he didn't want the answer to that, either. Besides, Laurent did not think he would be able to verbalize it. Not yet.

"I know you think I hired that fucking assassin," Laurent said sharply, and Auguste drew back.

"I do not think you hired the assassin," He looked genuinely surprised. He then said, "Language." 

"Sorry," Laurent muttered. He'd become more liberal in his cursing after hanging around Aimeric, and Jord never did anything to discourage it. He straightened and said, "I saw how you looked at me. You thought I was up to something. You thought I did it." 

"I--" Auguste shook his head. Then he settled his weight on the floor and set his hand on top of Laurent's. He said, "That was wrong of me. I abandoned that idea after I thought it, but then the rumors began circulating. I... I started thinking about it again. You were always so much smarter than I expected. I knew that if you wanted, you could do anything in the entire world."

"How could you think I would do that?" Laurent's own anger surprised him. He'd been angry with Auguste for years, until he realized it was misdirected. Now it seemed, that anger was back. He tried to tamper it down, but the more he did, the worse it got. Auguste should have known better. Laurent had been fifteen and he'd been alone and-- 

"I'm sorry," Auguste said with all the sincerity in the world, but it did nothing to dissuade Laurent.

"I was a _child_."

"You _are_ a child," Auguste replied, "and I never should have thought such horrible things. I let rumors fill my head, and-- no that's not an excuse. There is no excuse, I should have been a better brother. I'm sorry."

Laurent knew rationally that it was not Auguste's fault. It still made him mad. Their uncle had robbed them of so much time together. 

"I missed you," Laurent snapped.

"Laurent--"

"I just wanted you to like me. That's all I ever wanted. But you were always too busy for me," Laurent took a deep breath, "I tried to understand because you're the king, so I know you have a lot to worry about. I was burdening you, and you had so many other things to worry about. Still, I just wanted to spend time with you." 

Auguste knit his brow, "Who told you that?" 

Laurent frowned, "What?" 

"Who said those things to you?" Auguste asked, "Who said I was too busy?" 

Realization hit Laurent. He answered, "Uncle." 

Auguste set his jaw. He nodded quickly and said, "I will speak with him."

Breakfast arrived a moment later, and Auguste pushed the plate closer to Laurent with a murmur of, "Eat up."

They ate in silence for a few moments, and Laurent let himself relax. It was good to spend time with his brother, even in silence.

As Laurent was beginning to get up to leave, Auguste said to him "I love you." 

"I love you, too," Laurent answered automatically, because despite his confusion and anger and frustration and sadness, that was always true. 

Auguste smiled and said, "I will see you in the counsel chambers later today."

"I look forward to it."

Counselor Herode proved to be a competent teacher. Laurent grew to like the old man rather quickly, which was strange. He was usually weary of new people.

Herode seemed to know everything. That was Laurent's initial impression of him, at least. He had an easy intellect about him. He was confident in a way that very few people were; not only confidence, but confident in his own confidence. He didn't wear his confidence as a shield to protect insecurities. He was simply self-assured that he was every inch as good as he thought he was. He smiled when Laurent asked the right questions, though he never answered outright. Instead, he would point Laurent to a shelf in the library and tell him to figure it out. 

He seemed quite fond of hypotheticals, which Laurent enjoyed. Counselor Herode would give him a scenario full of impossible odds and then ask how he would advise the king in such a situation. Within a few weeks of his training, Laurent was learning to be more tactical and resourceful than he had ever known possible.

"Imagine the Akielon king is pressing his troops north," Herode said, "He is threatening to burn every town he comes across unless King Auguste agrees to annex Vere under Akielon control."

"First thing is to raise the army," Laurent said, but Herode shook his head.

"A quarter of your troops were in the south when the Akielons attacked without warning and were killed in their homes before they could organize," Herode said. He liked making the scenario more and more complicated as they went along. He said, "Another quarter has been deployed but were wiped out by the Akielons. You have half of your troops remaining against an already larger Akielon army." 

Laurent huffed, "Begin negotiations, then." Herode nodded for him to continue, so Laurent said, "Send a messenger with a time and place, ask King Theomedes to come in alone. He negotiated with us once, so it is safe to assume--"

"Not Theomedes," Herode shook his head, "King Theomedes is too old to go into battle himself and too war-weary to start another fight. King Damianos. His name is not on the treaty." 

Laurent frowned. He did not know anything of Prince Damianos. 

"Ask King Damianos to negotiate--" 

"He refuses," Herode said with a little nod, "Damianos is young and battle-tested. He has never lost, and he is arrogant for it. Imagine he refuses negotiation." 

Laurent tapped his fingers impatiently on the table between them, "We'd need to prepare some sort of trap. A diversion." 

Herode nodded, "Specifically?" 

"Something discrete," Laurent thought aloud, as he was learning to do, "A small group, maybe not even. One person might be enough." 

"To destroy a superpower? Elaborate." 

"A spy of sorts."

"The Akielons are killing every Veretian they see," Herode said, and Laurent scowled.

"It would be risky, but if one of ours could hide away in a town until the soldiers came into the houses, they may be able to take down a single soldier. Steal the armor and infiltrate. In a large army, the soldiers can't possibly all know each other. One unfamiliar face would go unnoticed." 

"And what would this spy do?" Herode asked.

"Kill the king," Laurent said with a little shrug.

"Ah," Herode nodded, "Not a spy, then. An assassin." 

Laurent flinched at the word. He shook his head and said, "That's not what I meant to--"

"Do not be ashamed," Herode smiled, "It would not be an honorable victory, but it would be a victory nonetheless. Which do you think is more important: honor or survival? Now, imagine your assassin fails. What happens?" 

"Did my assassin fail or were they caught?" Laurent arched a brow.

"Caught," Herode decides, "and King Damianos is furious. He marches on Arles the next morning." 

Laurent tapped his fingers a little faster, "You are backing me into a corner." 

"I am," Herode agreed. He seemed amused by this.

"Well, then," Laurent shifted, "It may come time to surrender Vere." 

He thought that might have been the lesson: knowing when to quit. It seemed like the type of lesson Herode would enjoy.

But Herode bristled. He shook his head and said, "Do you know what Akielos would do to your brother in such a scenario? Do you know what they would do to _you_ , as his brother? Believe me when I say you do not want to find out. Think of something better." 

Laurent struggled for a moment, then finally admitted, "I am not sure." 

"Here," Herode stood and marched him to a rare section of the library he had not explored before, "find your answer and bring it to me tomorrow morning."

Laurent sighed, then he sat on the floor and read the titles on the lower shelves. He picked one and began reading right there. 

He thought he might fall asleep, the book was so boring. He skimmed the pages and flipped quickly to the next. He searched the chapter titles and indexes for any hints, then moved on to the next book to repeat the process. Each one seemed farther from an answer than the last. 

Laurent was beginning to develop a headache, and at some point, it got dark enough that he had to find a candle to go on. 

By the time he found his answer, it was well after dark. He took the book back to his table and scribbled notes to himself in the margins. 

"Prince Laurent." 

Laurent did not look up at the sound of Jord's voice.

"Do not call me that anymore," Laurent replied flatly.

"Apologies," Jord did not sound bothered.

"Laurent," It was Auguste's voice this time. 

Laurent looked up just as Auguste was sliding into the seat Herode had occupied earlier. 

"Hi," Laurent said, suddenly flustered. He was still quite unused to seeing his brother so frequently.

"Herode has you hard at work, I take it?" Auguste smiled.

Laurent just nodded.

"I knew he would," Auguste said, "That's why I volunteered him." 

"Because you hate me?" Laurent then wondered if it was too soon to joke about that, but Auguste just laughed. 

"Because you will benefit from him," Auguste corrected.

Laurent could not deny that this was probably true. In his few short weeks with Counselor Herode, he felt as if he had learned more than he had in the past sixteen years of his life. That did not mean he wouldn't complain, of course.

"Should you be writing in the book? Those are not cheap, you know," Auguste asked, laughing. 

Laurent shrugged, "One day it will add value to this book."

"Oh?" 

"Of course. When I am a revered figure in Veretian history, this will sell for a fortune," Laurent said. He smiled to show he was only joking. Mostly.

"And what will you be revered for doing?" Auguste asked.

Laurent paused, then said, "I have not decided yet." 

"When you do, let me know," Auguste leaned over and kissed the top of Laurent's head, "Goodnight, La-La. Go to sleep now, it's late." 

Laurent was left reeling over the softness of the gesture.

+

"So," Herode said as Laurent found his seat across from him, "Tell me your new plan." 

"A false surrender," Laurent said, "Have the village surrender resources to the troops as a peace offering. Make a big spectacle about it. Wine, mead, meat. Send out men with white flags before they even arrive." Laurent paused to gauge Herode's reaction.

"That sounds like a real surrender to me," Herode said, "Continue."

"Oleander," Laurent said, "It's a plant. A flower, very poisonous. Grind it down, make it undetectable. Fill the wine and alcohol with it, marinade the meat in it. It grows naturally all around the capitol, but not at all in Akielos. They won't know what's coming." 

"They may suspect poison," Herode said, "Perhaps not all of them indulge in the wine."

"But Damianos is young and arrogant," Laurent argued, "He would indulge, and so would his closest officers. Many others would do so if they saw their king partaking. Besides, they would not suspect poison in such a large quantity, and oleander would blend into the flavor of the wine. Even a wine-taster would not notice it, as it is only lethal in large doses."

Herode considered this, "Is there enough oleander in the city?" 

Laurent was not sure, but he answered, "I believe so. We would have a few days to gather it before the troops arrived." 

Counselor Herode nodded, then he asked, "What if King Damianos does not accept surrender? What if he kills the village anyway?" 

"Put oleander in the bottles inside the palace," Laurent said, "He will gloat. He won't kill Auguste immediately. He'll pillage the palace and drink what he finds, and then every single one of his troops will die." 

Herode smiled, "You see what happens when you are backed into a corner, Laurent?"

Laurent shook his head.

"You become recklessly dangerous," Herode settled in his chair, "People with no options will create wild new ones. Never be too confident in your victory: a frightened enemy is an unpredictable one." 

Laurent would remember that.

"I have a new assignment for you," Herode said.

"Okay," Laurent nodded.

"Write a letter to Prince Damianos of Akielos," Herode smiled when Laurent gave him a confused look.

"Why?"

"Because one day, you will need to understand how to maintain foreign relations," Herode replied, then more seriously, "Because you need to know him, in case he ever threatens Vere." 

"What will I say?"

"Whatever you deem necessary," Herode replied as if that were the easiest thing in the world, "Bring it to me when you are done, and we can go over it together."

After lunch that day, Laurent went around the palace walls picking oleanders. They really were beautiful flowers: bright pink and wide-petaled. He stuffed as many as he could into his pockets without making too noticeable of a difference in the bush. He plucked some leaves as well, for good measure.

Laurent did not want to be backed into a corner. He had spent so much of his life feeling helpless to his uncle, and he was never going to let that happen ever again. 

When he got back to his chambers, he sat down on the floor beside his bedside table and dumped all the flowers from his pockets. He crushed the flowers down with the flat of his knife blade. When he couldn't get the pieces small enough, he created a makeshift pestle and mortar from a fruit bowl and the a thin candleholder. It surprised Laurent how long it took him. 

He was nearly satisfied when there was a knock on his door. He lurched forward to shove the bowl of ground flowers behind his pillow, then called, "Come in!" 

Auguste pushed the doors open gently and made his way to Laurent, smiling. 

"Herode tells me you show a lot of potential," Auguste said. He sat down at Laurent's desk and started reading through the scattered papers, which Laurent found quite annoying.

Rather than to snip at him, Laurent said, "He wants me to write a letter to Prince Damianos." 

"He said as much," Auguste nodded.

"And you will allow it?" 

Auguste looked up at him, "I see nothing wrong with it, so long as you do not go spilling our secrets to him." 

"He is an enemy."

"He is an ally," Auguste reminded him.

"For now," Laurent argued, "That could change." 

"It could," Auguste tipped his head from side to side, considering the possibility.

"If it does," Laurent said sharply, "I'll kill him." 

Auguste looked surprised for only a second, then he laughed. He said, "I know. Now, look, I have something for you." He set down what was very clearly a box wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a blue ribbon. 

Laurent tugged the ribbon until it came undone and unraveled the paper. Auguste watched with a silly smile on his face. 

The book was actually a leather-bound notebook, Laurent realized when he revealed it. It was clean and beautiful and perfectly made. Laurent dragged his fingertips over the cover and flipped it open to the first page. His initials were stamped into the inside of the front cover. 

"I figured you would need someplace to take your notes," Auguste said, "or else all the library books will have your writing in the margins. I have a feeling that would raise some complaints."

Laurent nodded, unable yet to form words.

"If you don't like it--"

"I love it," Laurent said quickly. He dropped the book onto the desk and threw his arms around his brother's neck. Auguste reacted with a surprised noise, though he quickly pulled Laurent close to reciprocate the hug. 

"Good," Auguste laughed, "I'm glad." 

Laurent broke the hug and picked up the notebook again to look over it.

Auguste shifted, "I was wondering if you would like to train with me tomorrow? You can show me what you can do with those knives." 

"I thought you didn't like my knives," Laurent pointed out, "You said they were an assassin's weapon. Dishonorable, even."

"That was mean of me. I should not have said that," Auguste said with a nod, "You and I are not the same, and I should have known that. You're small and nimble, and you would be wasted on a sword." Then with more determination, "I can help you improve. I can help you learn to take down men twice your size."

Laurent looked at him for a long while. He thought of Damianos and the Akielon warriors, so he nodded, "Okay."

"Okay," Auguste smiled. Then a bit softer, he said, "I'm looking forward to spending time with you, Laurent." 

Laurent heard the guilt in his voice. He imagined they would never be able to make up for the time their uncle stole. But Auguste was certainly trying.

"I will see you in the morning, then," Auguste said as he took his leave. 

Alone in his room again, Laurent pulled the oleander powder out of hiding and transferred it from the bowl to an empty jar. He closed the lid tightly and set it on his desk as he sat down.

With a glance to the poison in front of him, he flipped open his new notebook and began drafting his letter to Prince Damianos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who has been reading :)   
> its been taking a bit longer than i thought it would to get to the ~meat~ of the story but we're almost there i promise
> 
> anyway lmk what you think !


	5. the assassin

Laurent did not have a reason to take out his poison again until he was seventeen. 

By then, he had learned the importance of whispers. He made friends with the stable boys and with the maids, and they provided him with these whispers. He found theirs to be far more reliable than the court's wild rumors.

One of the maid girls had been scrubbing the floors in the Lord's chambers when she had found a check stub made out to a man named Jacques Bassett for a total of a hundred gold pieces. It was an obscene amount. It took Laurent all of an hour searching in the Counsel records to find reports of a Jacques Bassett being arrested on multiple cases of violent assault. Listed along the criminal records was an address.

There was only one reason his uncle would be hiring a man with such a reputation.

Laurent did think about warning Auguste that there would be an assassin in the palace within the next few days, but he thought better of it. They had become close again since Laurent renounced his title, but still. It was too ridiculous of a claim. Auguste would never take it seriously.

His uncle's words still came to him sometimes, and Laurent found himself wondering if Auguste would ever believe him about certain things. 

So that night, Laurent borrowed clothes from one of the stable boys under the false claim that he was just going out for a drink in town. The boy had laughed and explained to Laurent how to get through the servant's gate.

"The guards probably won't be looking too hard if you go during the daytime," The boy said, "but if you get back late, you better have an excuse." 

Laurent scooped a little bit of his powdered oleander into a vial, then slipped it into his cloak pocket and left the palace a few hours before dark.

He had only been to the village a few times in his life, during festivals, and even then, he hadn't really seen much of it. It was foreign to him. He spent quite a bit of time wandering before he found the correct street. 

His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to take a break to catch his breath. It was overwhelming, to think of what he was about to do. The poison in his pocket felt as heavy as iron. He tried to convince himself it wasn't such a big deal. He would be killing someone who would kill Auguste if he didn't. This was just part of defeating his uncle.

Auguste had killed people before, Laurent reminded himself, and so had Jord. They had both been fighting before the peace treaty. If Laurent were just a little older, he would have killed people in the war, too. 

So Laurent drew in a sharp breath and set his shoulders back.

When he knocked on the door, a woman answered. She had a bruise over her left cheek.

"Hi," Laurent bowed his head instinctively, "I am looking for Jacques Bassett?" 

She frowned, "He is not here."

"Do you know where I can find him?" 

"Check La Doubture Argentée," She said before swiftly closing the door in his face.

Laurent hadn't the faintest clue where that was. When he asked a man on the street, the man gave him an odd look before pointing him in the right direction.

As night fell, so did the cold. Laurent pulled his cloak closer around himself as he walked. It was not yet late enough in the year for snow, but soon. He walked as quickly as he could just to keep his body warm.

La Doubture Argentée was a tavern, he realized when he saw the sign. There was loud, bawdy music coming from inside accompanied by the constant rumbling of voices. Laurent could not imagine a worse place, but he squared his shoulders and walked inside. At the very least, he would be warm. 

Laurent picked his way around the tables. The men hardly paid him any mind.

Laurent tried to imagine what an assassin would look like. Big muscles and stern eyes? Crooked fingers from repeated breaks? He could not be sure. It was impossible to tell which of these men was his target.

Laurent sat at the crowded bar and ordered a whiskey. He tried to not look so young and nervous. The bartender looked him over for a second, then made the drink and slid it across the counter. Laurent exchanged it for two copper pieces. He knocked that one back to soothe his nerves, then ordered another.

"Can you point out Jacques Bassett to me?" Laurent asked the bartender.

"I'd be careful if I were you, kid," The bartender said.

"I'm just a messenger," Laurent said.

The bartender frowned, but pointed out a man with a receding hairline and crooked nose.

This time, he took the drink and began to walk around. He held the glass close enough to his chest to slip it under his cloak. With his free hand, he took out the oleander powder and dumped it into the glass. He swirled it to mix in the flecks into the golden liquid. 

Laurent approached Jacques Bassett and said, "I have a message for you. From the palace."

Jacques looked sharply around the room and hissed, "Keep your voice down, then." 

Laurent held out the glass, "The Lord of Arles will double payment if it is done within the week." 

Jacques took the glass from him and smiled. He was missing a few of his teeth. He said, "He is very generous. And where do you fit into this?"

Laurent watched him take a sip of the drink before asking eloquently, "Huh?" 

Jacques took another sip, "Are you a part of the payment?" 

"No," Laurent snapped, taking a step back, "Good night." 

He left the tavern in a huff. The whiskey was still warm in his stomach as he stepped into the cold.

Laurent found a stone bench and sat. He drew his cloak around himself like a blanket and waited. Under his cloak, he fiddled with one of his throwing knives. 

Time passed slowly, so Laurent watched the sparse amounts of people going about their business. It was interesting to see how normal people spent their evenings. A young mother carried her sleepy child and hummed a lullaby. Two boys about Laurent's age were laughing and talking in fast, hushed voices.

It must have been a little more than an hour later that Jacques Bassett stumbled out of the tavern. He coughed a bit, and Laurent straightened. He watched Jacques make his way down the empty street until he stumbled over and could not seem to catch his breath. A few moments later, he went entirely still. Laurent's heart skittered in his chest. It took him a few more minutes to gather himself.

Laurent brushed himself off and went home.

+

He used the poison twice more in the span of the next six months, each time with a little more confidence. If anyone noticed his extended absences, no one brought it up. 

His uncle was escalating, getting more desperate. With Laurent no longer holding a claim to the throne, all he had to do was be rid of Auguste and he would be the king. Laurent would never let that happen, not so long as he lived. He vowed to himself that his uncle would never hold any sort of power over him ever again.

The morning of his fourth assassination, Laurent received a letter.

"Who's it from?" Laurent asked without looking up from his notebook. 

Jord replied, "Prince Damianos." 

Laurent sighed and took the letter. 

His correspondence with Damianos had been sparse since his first letter. This was only the third letter Laurent had received in a little more than a year, and the tone was too formal. It seemed Damianos was only writing back to be polite. 

Still, Laurent was learning about his possible enemy, so he did not mind Damianos' clear disinterest. He learned quickly that Damianos was several things: violent, rash, decisive. Laurent took note of those qualities. Of course, Damianos had other qualities, too. He was nice. Laurent did his best to ignore that one.

 _My Lord Laurent of Vere,_ the letter began. He was no longer Prince Laurent of Vere.

 _I hope this letter finds you and your brother in good health._ Damianos always started like that. Polite, formal. Boring, maybe. Laurent sighed and kept reading.

The letter contained nothing scandalous. A few lines about his fiancee, then his brother. There was a short paragraph about him learning a new technique of swordplay that made Laurent frown. A veiled threat, maybe? Somehow Laurent did not think Damianos had any ill intent, but Laurent scribbled it down in his notebook anyway. The only new thing he learned was that King Theomedes had fallen ill.

It wasn't too much of a shock. The king was old. Laurent did not think too much of it.

He began to write back.

_To Prince Damianos of Akielos,_

_I am sorry to hear of your father's ailment. I will say a prayer to the gods that they heal him swiftly._ But Laurent reconsidered that. The Akielon religion and the Veretian one were quite different. Maybe Damianos would see this as an insult, or worse, a lapse in judgement. 

Then Laurent thought maybe it was good he include that line. Akielons did not think highly of Veretian spirituality. Akielon religion was simple: a creator god and a few minor deities over the land, sea, and other aspects of the earth. Veretians had dozens and dozens of gods. From what Laurent understood, the Akielons thought this was overly mystical and ungrounded.

So maybe Damianos would believe him to be stupid or naive for referring to his religion, and maybe that would be a good thing. It was better Damianos underestimate him. 

Laurent set down his pen after writing those two lines, already tired of it. He did not really enjoy writing to Damianos. It was difficult to think of what to say and even more difficult to chose his words specifically to get a certain response from Damianos. The right question might make Damianos slip up and say something too private, but somehow, Damianos never took the bait. It was annoying.

So Laurent glanced at the clock. Auguste would be in the training arena. He picked up his knives and got on his way.

When he approached the arena, Auguste was practicing complicated maneuvers. He was already sweaty under the late-morning sun.

He called, "I want to spar." 

Auguste lowered his sword as he turned to face Laurent, a wide smile cutting across his face. He laughed as he said, "Do you? You know I always win." 

Laurent did know that, but he scowled nonetheless. He argued, "I'll beat you one day."

"One day," Auguste grinned, "After you put on thirty pounds of muscle and use a sword."

Laurent drew his knives, one in each hand, and said, "You wish." 

Sparring with Auguste had vastly improved his knife-fighting ability. He learned to be quicker and move more fluidly. He learned to keep his guard up and look for openings in attack. At the rate he was improving, Laurent was certain he could beat his brother one day. Moreover, he was certain he could beat Damianos one day.

"I'll never understand your stubbornness. You would have more reach if you used a sword. You wouldn't have to fight so close," Auguste gave him the same lecture at least once a month. 

"I like my knives," Laurent answered. They were easy to conceal, he did not say. Instead he said, "Come on." 

Auguste bowed dramatically to begin the fight, then swung. 

Afternoon brought Laurent's lessons with Herode.

"I have a new scenario for you," Herode said as Laurent fell into his seat. Laurent nodded, and Herode continued, "Imagine the winter lasts longer than expected. Crops cannot grow in the north, and there is a horrible famine."

Laurent frowned. He disliked the natural disaster scenarios, even though he knew they were probably the most useful.

"Patras would support us," Laurent said. The relationship between Vere and Patras was friendly, since Auguste and Laurent were half Patran.

"Patras has also been hit hard," Herode said, "and King Torgeir can barely feed his own people." 

Laurent had half-expected that outcome. Herode seemed to take immense pleasure in making up the most convoluted and difficult scenarios possible. 

"Are the crops in the south growing?" Laurent asked, and Herode nodded. 

"The south is unaffected, but they cannot produce enough to sustain the north as well."

"Have them plant as much excess as they can and compensate the farmers," Laurent said, to which Herode gave a small nod, "and then... well, if we had had time to prepare for the famine, we could--"

"Assume you did not." 

Laurent stifled a groan. He stared at Herode for a long minute, waiting for him to surrender the answer. Herode did not. 

"Increase hunting permits among northerners?" Laurent tried.

"Animal life has also affected by the harsh winter. What remains is too skinny to feed many people, anyway. It would be a bad idea to hunt all the wildlife into extinction," Herode told him. 

Laurent huffed. A part of him wanted to suggest _eat the dogs_ , but he could already guess what kind of reaction that would get. 

The answer came to him, and he groaned just a bit. He said, "Ask Akielos for help." 

Herode smiled, "Very good. Tell me how you would approach this." 

"Who is the king in this scenario? Theomedes or Damianos?" 

"Damianos," Herode said.

"I'd write him a letter. We are... familiar, I suppose," Even that seemed too intimate of a word for the relationship he had with Damianos. Laurent continued, "He is a good man, I think. If we asked, I believe he would agree to it."

"Few people do anything out of the kindness of their hearts," Herode reminded him, and Laurent nodded. He knew this.

"We can offer gold."

"King Damianos has enough gold. He wants land," Herode said.

Laurent shook his head, "Auguste would not agree." 

"No?" Herode asked, "Imagine this: Damianos offers enough food to fully support the north, in exchange for a small amount of land in the south. What do you advise King Auguste do in this scenario?" 

"Perhaps a counteroffer," Laurent said with a shrug, "Veretian warhorses are the best in the world. We could offer some. And our fabric is more durable than theirs, so we could offer that, too." 

Herode nodded, "Do you think King Daminaos would agree?" 

"Maybe," Laurent frowned, "It would be a gamble, but... maybe if I asked it of him, not Auguste. He knows me better, so." 

"You see?" Herode smiled, "You see how important it is that you keep up your correspondence with Prince Damianos? One day, it may be the difference between life and death for your people."

Laurent thought this was a bit dramatic, but he nodded anyway. He said, "He's... nice. I don't think he really cares much for my letters, though. He overshares sometimes, but he's still too polite to really be personal."

"Give it time," Herode said, "He likely does not take you seriously yet. When you are on your brother's counsel next year, he may change his tune."

"You think Auguste will put me on the Counsel?" Laurent asked. He knew, of course, that Auguste would evaluate him when he turned eighteen, but there was always the chance Auguste would decide he was not ready. 

"He will if I recommend it," Herode replied. His face gave away nothing. 

As night began to fall, Laurent got ready. He filled a flask with rum and dumped a vial of oleander powder into it, then stuffed the flask into his pocket. He strapped his throwing knives high on his right thigh, where his cloak would hang low enough to cover. Then he stuck the knife from Aimeric in his belt.

He pulled the hood of his cloak up as he approached the servant's gates, but the night guards had gotten used to seeing him every so often, so they barely reacted to him.

His new target was a man named Louis. He was more difficult to track down than the other three. Laurent had spent the better part of a day in the Counsel records office searching through arrest reports. There was only one documented record of him: a suspected murder, but he had been released almost immediately with no record of why. Someone had paid the city guards off. Laurent had a good guess who.

He knocked on Louis' door once, then again after a few moments passed. The man who answered was burly and gruff-looking. He glanced Laurent over and asked shortly, "What?" 

"I have a message from the palace," Laurent said. He put on his best innocent voice.

Louis gestured for him to come inside, "Not here." 

Laurent shook his head, "It's just a note." He withdrew the flask and a note he'd written and held them out to Louis, but Louis grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. 

Instinctively, Laurent kicked him in the shins and snapped, "What are you--"

"Shut up," Louis took the flask and the note and read through the note quickly. 

"Can I go?" Laurent asked-- too sharply for a simple messenger boy. He cursed internally, but Louis did not seem to notice. 

"No," He was blocking the door, "The Lord said you might come." 

Laurent wasn't sure what to make of that, but he went along with it. He snapped, "He sent me." 

Louis' smile was not pleasant, "He said three of his men were found dead in the span of a few months. He said not to accept a drink from anyone, so--" He held the flask out to Laurent and said, "--you take this back and go home. Tell whoever is paying you that the Lord of Arles is onto him." 

It did not come as too much of a surprise, but Laurent suppressed the urge to curse anyway. One dead assassin was bad luck. Two meant a pattern, and three meant an enemy. Laurent was going to have to get more creative to throw off his uncle.

Laurent took the flask back and stuffed it back into his pocket. Then he drew his knife and lunged forward. 

Louis was faster than Laurent had expected for a man of his size, but Laurent's knife still caught him in the side. Louis landed a hit on Laurent's jaw that nearly sent him to the ground, but Laurent found his footing quickly. He dodged another punch and slashed his blade across Louis' shoulder, which made him hiss in pain. 

Anger flashed in Louis' eyes, and he jumped forward, catching Laurent by the waist and dragging him down to the ground. His weight was too much for Laurent to throw. No matter how he struggled, he could not find the leverage he needed to get out.

Real panic darted through him for the first time in a while. 

Laurent slammed his knee Louis' crotch. The man recovered quickly, but there was a short moment in which his grip relaxed. Laurent squirmed out from under him in that time, but Louis grabbed his ankle and dragged him back down to the ground. He shoved Laurent's head against the ground.

For the next few seconds, Laurent's vision went completely white. His ears were ringing, and he felt like he was moving through molasses. Some part of him was aware that Louis' weight had moved off him. He tried to straighten himself and sit up, but almost toppled over.

Louis had a hold of his wrists and was forcing them together. Laurent's vision cleared in time for him to see Louis trying to wrap a chord around his wrists, and he kicked Louis directly in the knee. When Louis jerked back in pain, Laurent scrambled to his feet.

He pulled one of his throwing knives from his thigh sheath and threw it into Louis' neck. Louis choked and staggered to his knees. 

Breathing hard, Laurent inched closer.

"When he joins you..." Laurent said, crouching down in front of Louis. He kept a meter of distance between them. He continued, "tell the Lord of Arles that it was me. Tell him Laurent did this."

Louis did not respond.

Laurent straightened just enough to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. 

This was fine, he assured himself. He had gotten too confident, he needed something to humble him. Better it happen now than later. When he caught his breath, he retrieved his knives.

The adrenaline was wearing off as he began his walk home. His head was throbbng and his jaw hurt where he'd been hit. It would bruise, probably, which meant he would have to cover it up so Auguste wouldn't see it. Auguste would ask too many questions. Not to mention, his uncle would notice, and he might put the pieces together. 

When he got back to his room, he shed his cloak and stripped down to his underclothes, then he collapsed on top of his bed. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this tired.

When he found the strength to sit up again, he looked over to his desk, where his letter to Damianos was still unfinished. 

He thought of what it felt like to fight Auguste and compared it to how it felt fighting Louis. The difference was clear. Auguste was clean and careful. Auguste never wanted to hurt him. It was different to fight someone who wanted to kill him. It was messier and more difficult. It was fueled by adrenaline and panic.

If the two of them ever did fight, Damianos would want to kill him.

Laurent would have to get very, _very_ good at fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laurent, but with a knife
> 
> thanks so much for reading :))


	6. the meeting

_**three years later.** _

This was, admittedly, one of the riskier of Laurent's plans.

His target was not an assassin this time, just a scumbag. It had started when one of the maid girls told him she saw his uncle sneaking a child out of the palace. The girl did not seem to understand what was happening, but just listening to her talk made Laurent's entire body seize up. He'd gone into town that night, and with a few well worded questions to the right people, he found what he was looking for. 

A few days later, Laurent was ready. He dressed himself in the style of adolescent commoners and when a man pulled him into an alleyway, Laurent let it happen. 

The man took him to a room with four other kids, all of them younger. Laurent did his best to look younger than he was. He'd had a bit of a baby face his entire life, until he was about nineteen. All of a sudden his round cheeks became smooth, if a bit sunken, and his face became sharper. His cheekbones were more prominent and his brow bone stronger. His face was all lines-- his jaw, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones.

The two men guarding them did not look at him too hard, though. They tied his hands in front of him and made him sit on the floor, but they didn't check him thoroughly for weapons. Laurent had been careful. He only had one knife on him, pressed flush against his forearm and wrapped up with fabric to keep it from slipping. It was one of his throwing knives-- thin enough that it was not noticeable outside of a careful pat-down. When he moved too sharply, the tip dug into his arm, but he could bear that for the time being. 

The men were big, but appeared unarmed save for a wicked knife on each of their belts. They spoke in hushed voices, but it was not difficult to fill in the gaps in what Laurent could hear. They intended to rent the children to men like the Lord.

Laurent brought his tied hands to his ankle, where he had hidden a needle between the layers of fabric in his pant leg. With a little push, the needle poked back through the fabric, and Laurent pinched it between his fingers to drag it out. He worked the needle into the swaths of fabric they'd used to bind him until it began to tear. 

The little boy beside him elbowed him in the side and hissed, "What are you doing?" He had wide eyes and wild brown curls.

"Shut up," Laurent whispered back.

He held still and waited for the men to move into the next room to continue their conversation. He did not really want to kill anyone in front of the kids. 

When they were out of sight, Laurent made quick work of removing his jacket and unwrapping his knife. He put a finger over his lips to silence the children as he crept toward the doorway. He held his knife between two fingers as he lined up his throw. This would not be a good time to miss. 

Laurent didn't miss these days.

His knife struck the first man in the throat and severed his airways. He choked and gasped, but it was a sealed fate. Laurent lunged for the second man and toppled him to the ground.

The man under him was stronger, but he'd been taken off guard. Laurent wretched the knife from the man's belt, but before he could bring the blade down, the man kneed him in the stomach and threw him aside. Laurent curled his fingers at the pain, grit his teeth, and got to his feet. He reminded himself to breathe and steady himself.

The man ran at him, and Laurent slid low and slashed across back of the man's thigh. Taken down to one knee, the man grunted in pain. Laurent kicked him in the chest to take him to the ground. 

"I told him you were too old," The man snapped, and Laurent set the knife against his throat.

"Are there more of you?" Laurent hissed, "How many in Arles?" 

The man spit at him.

"Fine," He moved his blade the the man's hand, "I'm going to cut your fingers off until you tell me." 

"Little shit," The man snarled, then he howled.

"Nine more chances, then I'll move on to... a different appendage," Laurent said evenly. The man under him fought, but Laurent was better positioned this time. He'd gotten good at this from training with Jord. He knew where to put his weight to keep men down, no matter how big they were.

"I don't know," The man snapped at him.

"I think you do," Laurent replied, then, "Eight."

Breathing hard, the man shook his head and half-shouted, "It's one group. Lots of smaller bits, like this one." Then after a gasping breath, he snarled, "You count yourself lucky you did not wander into a bigger group, you little fuck. Some of them like to sample--"

Laurent struck him across the face, and he spit blood.

"Tell me where to find your boss. Tell me his name."

"Fuck you," The man said, and by then, Laurent was getting frustrated. 

"Seven." 

Grunting and heaving for breath, the man said, "Hercule Rousseau." 

Laurent smiled, "Thank you." 

"We have big money behind us," The man snapped, "They will crush you."

"The Lord of Arles, you mean?"

The man stared at him, and Laurent huffed a laugh.

"We've been acquainted. When you see him in the deepest of the hells, let him know it was Laurent who sent you." Then Laurent cut his throat.

When he stood, there was blood on his sleeve. 

He walked back to the other room, where the children were huddled together. Quickly, Laurent crouched to their level and said, "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. Let's get you home before it gets dark." He cut their binds, careful not to nick them.

Two of the children were siblings who lived close by. Laurent made sure to watch them get inside before he walked the next child to his street. 

The last one was the curly-haired boy who had sat beside Laurent. 

"Where's home?" Laurent asked him.

"Haven't got one," The boy answered.

Laurent frowned, "No? Where were you before this?"

"Been with them for seven months." The boy answered.

"I'm not going to leave you on the street," Laurent told him. It was going to be dark in a few hours, and the boy would be cold. Laurent could not bear to think about that. He thought for a moment before saying, "You could come with me. I'll make sure you're well taken care of." 

The boy looked at him suspiciously, "Where do you live?" 

Laurent smiled softly, "In the palace. Long story." 

"Long story?" 

"My name is Laurent. I'm King Auguste's brother." 

The boy narrowed his eyes and studied Laurent. Laurent thought this was a funny expression in such a young face. He wondered if he had ever looked like that himself. Probably.

"I am Nicaise," The boy said with a decisive nod, "and I've decided to trust you. Just for now, though." 

"Just for now," Laurent agreed.

Explaining the whole thing to Auguste would be a challenge.

Laurent went over their story with Nicaise and made him swear not to tell anyone what really happened. He couldn't be certain if Nicaise would keep his secret for long, which made him unreasonably nervous. It was not an easy thing, trusting people. Laurent had never been much good at it.

Laurent felt bad for lying to his brother, but he knew Auguste would never let him leave the palace again if he knew what had really happened, so it was necessary. Laurent told him the entire thing was chance-- Nicaise had run to him through the gates and told him about the kidnappers. It was not, in reality, the most plausible story, but it was good enough.

"Child trafficking?" Auguste shook his head in disgust, "It is too horrible to even think about. How someone could do such a thing to a child... I cannot imagine how the poor boy must be feeling."

Laurent said, "He has no family. I said he could stay here."

"Of course," Auguste nodded quickly, "I'll see to it that he has a place to sleep. Maybe in a few days, we can set him up with a job. Something small, just to get him some money and some new skills. He will never be in such a terrible position ever again." 

Laurent was temporarily overwhelmed with how much he loved his brother.

"I am glad you brought him here," Auguste said softly. He cupped Laurent's face in his hands and said, "You are growing up to be so _good_. I'm proud of you."

Laurent did not trust himself to speak, so he just hugged his brother.

Two days later, Hercule Rousseau and a half dozen of his men were tried and executed.

+

Later that week, Auguste proposed a yearly celebration of the alliance, alternating every year between being held in Arles and Ios, during which both parties came together to drink, discuss policies, and fraternize. Laurent thought it was a silly idea. 

Then Auguste revealed that it was really their uncle's idea, and Laurent thought it was a set-up. Their uncle rarely did anything without a motive, and Laurent did not trust him to have pure intentions. A celebration would mean hundreds of extra people. It would be nearly impossible to keep track of all of them. An assassin could slip in so easily, it put Laurent's nerves on edge.

When he had brought up his concerns with the Counsel, the overwhelming reaction was that he was being paranoid.

Auguste had been gentle with him, but it was clear he also thought Laurent was overly concerned. He had said, "You know Prince Damianos well by now, don't you? Do you believe he is a good man?"

Laurent had paused before simply saying, "It is hard to tell just from letters, but I think so."

"Then we have nothing to be concerned about, yes?" 

Laurent was still wary of Damianos. The warrior prince who lead his army into battle by the age of nineteen. This was the man who might have lead Akielos to total victory, had negotiations not begun before he had the chance. 

"I suppose not," Laurent answered. 

"You still look concerned," Auguste noted, and Laurent sighed at how easily his brother was able to read his expressions.

"I don't know what to expect from him," Laurent admitted. Years of letters had not given him any inclination to Damianos' agenda. Damianos had never seemed to really talk about himself as the next king. He wrote as if he was just a man. He left no hints as to his policies. All Laurent knew for certain was that Damianos was a strong warrior and a stronger man. That combination would make a dangerous enemy.

"That is the way it goes sometimes," Auguste said lightly, "I know you like knowing everything, but sometimes it's impossible. Have a little faith." 

Laurent did not have faith in much these days. He'd never been one to ardently worship the gods, and he did not believe in chance. He trusted only his instincts and his mind. (And sometimes Auguste's heart, when Laurent was feeling sappy.)

He most certainly did not have faith in Damianos, a man he had never met and whose intentions he did not know. It bothered him more than anything to not know. 

So several weeks later, when the Akielon party was set to arrive in a few hours on their doorstep, Laurent felt an inch away from a nervous breakdown. 

Before noon, Laurent had already paced the length of his chambers more times than he could count, sharpened each one of his knives, and done fifty practice throws, each one slamming into the center of the target on his wall. He also changed his clothes twice and could not find a way to feel good about the state of his hair.

When he'd gone to the village the night prior, it was already bustling with people anticipating the Akielons' arrival. It was too many people. Too many variables, too many unknowns. Laurent _hated_ variables.

His uncle had suggested this, so something bad was in the making. Laurent knew that much. His spies had not found much for him, but Laurent was certain of it, anyway. 

There was a knock at his door around noon, and Laurent flinched violently. 

"Come in." 

It was Auguste. 

"You missed lunch," Auguste said, and Laurent sighed. 

"I wasn't hungry."

"You skipped breakfast, too," Auguste was frowning. He had a small plate in his hand.

Laurent sighed and sank onto the edge of his bed. He gestured for Auguste to close the door, and Auguste did. 

"I'm not feeling too well," Laurent admitted, "I cannot stomach it." 

Auguste set the plate down on his desk and moved to join him sitting on the bed, "Explain to me why you are so against this. It will be good for the alliance. It could prevent another war." 

Laurent groaned, "I just don't like the idea of all those people being here."

Auguste was quiet for a long minute. 

"I worry about you," Auguste said, and Laurent rolled his eyes dramatically. Auguste chuckled softly before saying, "I am serious. I worry that you are lonely."

That was such a ridiculous fear. Laurent had quite a bit going on in his life. As the newest member of the Royal Counsel, he was often stuck with the most tedious paperwork, not to mention his constant monitoring of his spies and occasional assassination. He hardly had time for himself, much less another person.

"You worry about the strangest things," Laurent replied with a shake of his head.

"Laurent," Auguste insisted, "I know you like time alone, and I know you're independent. I just wonder if you ever want to... see someone."

Laurent shook his head, "No." 

He knew what Auguste really meant. There was gossip around the court that Laurent never took any lovers, and the consensus seemed to be that this made him strange. Laurent did not think it was strange at all. He hated people touching him. He hated surrendering control. He hated lustful stares. Because of those things, he was quite confident he would not enjoy sex the way others did.

"I was talking to Uncle," Auguste said, and Laurent tried not to react with open negativity, "and we agreed that maybe it's time you start thinking about marriage." 

Laurent did not know what to say to that. 

"But..." He trailed off for a few seconds, "I have no duty to marry." 

As prince, it would have been expected that he marry an ally, but there was no such expectation for advisors. This was something he had silently appreciated for the last few years. 

"No duty, but still. I just want you to keep an open mind when it comes to... you know. Romance," Auguste said.

Laurent scoffed, "Marriage is not about romance." It was about politics. Everyone knew that.

"Don't say that," Auguste nudged him a bit harder than necessary, "Love marriages are not unheard of. It's... rare among nobles, yes, but not impossible."

"Okay," Laurent said noncommittally. He hoped Auguste would stop talking soon.

"I want you to be happy, Laurent."

"I know," Laurent sighed. Auguste always made that much clear. Laurent said, "I do not need another person in order to make me happy. I am happy the way I am."

Auguste gave him a long look, but eventually just nodded.

"I am not going to fall in love at this stupid party, anyway," Laurent snapped.

"You never know!" 

Laurent buried his head in his hands. 

"Hey," Auguste reached over and patted him on the head, "Is something wrong?"

When Laurent lifted his head again, he summoned all his courage and said, "I don't trust Uncle."

Auguste looked taken aback. "Why?" 

"It's just a feeling," Laurent said with a shake of his head, "I think he means harm." 

"What do you mean?" Auguste straightened, his brow furrowed. 

"I just think..." Laurent shook his head, "I think he wants to be king." 

"Of course he does," Auguste answered, and Laurent could not hide his alarm. Auguste continued, "But he would not do any harm to me. He is family. He loves us."

"How can you be so--" _stupid_ "--confident? Men have done worse things to become king than harm family."

"Laurent," Auguste chided with a little smile, "Uncle would not do something so horrible."

Laurent did not say anything to that. He wanted to, but Auguste was relentlessly stubborn sometimes-- a trait they had in common. Besides, Laurent did not know how to put his thoughts into words. Somehow with all his wit, Laurent never figured out the right words to talk about what had happened to him. And if he had, what would Auguste say? Laurent didn't know. He _hated_ not knowing, so he just avoided the situation entirely. 

One of the guards then informed them that the time was drawing near, so Auguste moved to leave. Before he got up, he said, "Please eat something, okay?" 

Laurent nodded, and when he was alone, he went back to his nervous fidgeting.

He read through his notebook, which he'd used to document his letters to and from Damianos. He felt as if he were studying for an examination, and he could not get enough information to pass.

+

Laurent stood with the Counsel rather than with his brother, since he was no longer heir to the throne, as he waited to meet the Akielons. He could not stop his hands from fidgeting. He itched for a knife. Just holding it would make him feel better. 

They were waiting in the grand hall, while Auguste and the royal party greeted the Akielons on the front steps. Not being able to see what was happening was worse. 

"Remember what I taught you," Herode said quietly to him.

Laurent thought he would throw up.

The doors finally opened, and King Theomedes stepped inside, flanked on both sides by guards. Auguste was next to him, smiling and speaking in a cool, relaxed voice. He looked so effortlessly confident, Laurent could not help but feel jealous. Auguste was wearing his crown and his regalia and still, he looked comfortable. Like the gods put him on earth just so he could be the king, and he knew it.

"My Royal Counsel," Auguste announced as he gestured to the group. He introduced each of them by name, and his smile brightened when he got to Laurent, "Our newest member is my own younger brother, Lord Laurent." 

Laurent bowed to the king, and when he straightened King Theomedes was studying him. He was an intense man-- that was Laurent's first impression. He had big eyes and a strong nose, and his face was wrinkled in stern lines. Age did not make him look any softer. He had big hands, too. It was not difficult to imagine him in his youth, wielding a sword and hacking through soldiers. Laurent's mind inevitably led him to imagining Theomedes as a warrior in his prime, wearing blood-stained armor and moving with impossible strength.

"Yes, I had heard that you renounced your title in favor of advising your brother," King Theomedes gave a little nod, "That is honorable. Brothers ought to support each other."

The words were rather flat, but Laurent knew how much honor and family meant in Akielos, so he let himself smile at the compliment.

Bowing again, he said, "Thank you, Exalted."

King Theomedes nodded.

"Do you enjoy your work?" King Theomedes asked, and Laurent caught Herode shooting him a look.

"I do," Laurent answered, "I find it very interesting."

 _He is testing me_. Veretians were claimed to be snake-like. King Theomedes was gauging how true that was.

Laurent let himself think about it. Was he snake-like? The answer he arrived at immediately was yes.

"Good. It would be a shame if you did not, being as you are still so young," Theomedes gave a small smile. Laurent was surprised by how natural it looked on the war king's face. 

"I am very pleased with his work. He is so clever; he would really be wasted in any other position," Auguste said, and Laurent thought he might die of embarrassment on the spot, "His support means a great deal to me." 

Laurent smiled. He tried not to show how much those words actually meant to him. If he did, King Theomedes would think him a sap.

"I am sure," King Theomedes then said, "I believe you are already acquainted with my younger son. Damianos, come forward."

Laurent had known this was coming, and he braced himself. He needed to be quick about analyzing Damianos, but also subtle. He needed to search him for any visible weaknesses, and he would not have much time. The more he could find out now, the more trouble he could save himself later. Like a runner preparing for the wave of the flag, Laurent prepared himself to begin micro-analyzing Damianos.

Then Crown Prince Damianos stepped forward from behind his father, and Laurent's head went completely empty for a few seconds.

When he found himself again, the only thing Laurent was capable of thinking was _oh shit_.

Damianos was tall and broad. His muscles rippled under his dark skin when he moved, and the curls in his hair bounced with every tiny movement. His brown skin was rich from sunlight. To make matters worse, he had a warm smile and a dimple on one cheek. His eyes were big and kind. He was probably the most attractive person in the entire world, Laurent thought. 

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my Lord," Prince Damianos said when he stopped in front of Laurent.

Laurent mechanically said, "And you, your Highness." but he hardly heard himself. 

_Think, idiot_. He could not. He tried to search Damianos for a physical weakness and found himself staring at Damianos' wide nose. A very good nose; perfect for his face, Laurent determined. He had never thought about something like that before.

"I hope to continue our correspondence in person later tonight," Damianos said.

Laurent bowed his head, "Of course." 

As the Auguste lead the Akielon party away, Laurent realized his heart was pounding. Was he blushing? He felt strange. Maybe he really would be sick.

He was not much a fan of alcohol, but in that moment, he wanted a drink.

When he looked up, he saw that his uncle had remained while the Akielons had gone. He was watching Laurent, a small smile on his lips.

"Prince Damianos is handsome," His uncle said, and Laurent wanted to scream. Of course his uncle would notice his reaction. 

It was not a question, but Laurent answered with, "I mean, I guess so."

 _Fuck._ He thought privately _, I am in trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laurent: big brain, lots of careful strategy and complex thought  
> laurent when he sees damen: brain machine not working
> 
> this may be closer to twelve chapters? so i might have to update that lol. Thanks so much for joining me in another chapter! All your comments make me smile :))


	7. the poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied csa, panic attack

The first day after the Akielon's arrival, there was to be a large brunch party in the gardens. Laurent could not imagine anything worse, but he knew better than to argue with Auguste about it. 

Laurent liked brunch as a child, when his mother would present him with pastel-colored treats and tart fruit, but as he got older, he realized the majority of the adults used brunch as an excuse to drink in the morning. He did not see the appeal. 

It was just before noon. The gardens had been set up with small tables stacked with different dishes, and the people mingled with each other. Laurent tried to force himself to put on a smile and interact with the others, but he found it difficult to muster the energy. He found crowds draining and strangers unnerving. It was a bad combination.

It turned out to be much easier to get Damianos' attention than Laurent thought it would be. All it took was a look and a small smile, and Damianos was moving through the crowd to get to him. 

"My Lord," Damianos bowed all wrong. It was far too low for his rank, especially compared to Laurent's. Laurent tried to compensate by bowing lower, but Damianos simply laughed and said, "No, please. We are not strangers."

So Laurent straightened and said, "I've been wanting to speak with you in person for some time now, your Highness." 

"Have you, my Lord?" Damianos' eyes twinkled, "Could have fooled me." 

Laurent arched a brow and said a bit too sharply to be friendly, "Come again?" 

Damianos laughed softly, "It was quite clear in the beginning that someone forced you to write to me."

"I was sixteen," Laurent argued, "and you never seemed too enthusiastic about responding, anyway." 

"Because you were sixteen," Damianos said with a little nod.

Laurent huffed and forced himself to reel in his annoyance to say, "Perhaps we can speak as adults now." 

"I would like that," Damianos smiled, "Your brother tells me you are the cleverest man in Vere." 

Caught off guard, Laurent could not hide the way his cheeks burned. He shook his head quickly and said, "He exaggerates. He is overly sentimental, your Highness." 

Damianos smiled a little wider at that, and Laurent tried not to stare at the dimple it made in his cheek. He said, "King Auguste seems to be a good man." 

"He is," Laurent said automatically. He wished that he had not. It was in bad taste to discuss his brother with a foreign crown prince. So Laurent tried to redirect the conversation by saying, "Have you found Vere to your liking?" 

Damianos glanced about the party and replied, "I've been enjoying myself, yes. It is lovely this time of day. In Akielos, it would be much too hot." He turned back to Laurent and said, "Your poor, fair skin would turn red. What a sad sight that would be." 

Laurent wasn't sure what to say to that. He was losing his grip on the conversation. 

"I have been working with the Counsel to discuss opening of more trade routes," Laurent said in a desperate attempt to keep on-topic, "I think it could be mutually beneficial to--" 

"My Lord, if you do not mind me saying," Damianos said with a small smile, "I would rather not speak about economics." 

Laurent frowned.

"You have mentioned an enjoyment of reading in your letters," Damianos said, "Perhaps you would be kind enough to take me on a tour of the library at some time?" 

An alarm sounded in Laurent's head. Damianos wanted him alone. Surely nothing good could come from that. 

"Of course, your Highness," Laurent said. His eyes darted to the muscles that defined Damianos' arms. As much as they made his heart flutter, they also filled him with stress. Had he ever beaten someone with Damianos' strength? Certainly not in a fair fight. If Damianos was planning something, Laurent would need to be extra prepared. Maybe he'd poison his knife blades.

At that moment, someone called Damianos' attention, and he bowed graciously to Laurent. He said, "Tomorrow, then." 

"Tomorrow," Laurent agreed. His heart was pounding.

Damianos smiled as he left, and Laurent took a deep breath.

"Careful."

Laurent turned to see his uncle standing a few feet behind him. He started to make a beeline for one of the servants holding trays of alcohol mixed with fresh orange juice, but his uncle intercepted him. Laurent snapped, "What?" 

"He is looking at you like you're a slab of meat," The Lord said with a pointed look over Laurent's shoulder, in the direction Damianos had gone.

"That's not true," Laurent argued. He was already feeling so tired. 

"No? Alright then, child, since you know best, I'll leave you to your own devices," His uncle chuckled a bit, "I only offer you words of caution, my sweet. You know I want the best for you." 

Laurent curled his fingers until his nails bit into his palms. He said, "Of course." 

"He has a reputation. I'm sure you are familiar with it," The Lord continued, "I heard he changes lovers more often than shoes." 

Laurent just crinkled his nose and tapped his foot impatiently.

The Lord smiled sympathetically, as if he was regarding something helpless. It made Laurent irrationally angry. 

_I'm going to kill you._

"I only mean to say, it is dangerous to get your hopes up," The Lord said, "He may show you attention now, but it will hardly last. Men like that have no time for... romance, if that is what you would like to call it."

"Right," Laurent drawled.

"One day, you will find someone, child. Surely someone out there will put up with your foul moods and your scheming and your temper and your prudishness and... well, it's best I just stop there."

"Thank you," Laurent gave an overly sweet smile. He made no effort to hide his resentment.

_I'm going to kill you._

The Lord reached forward and brushed a strand of hair behind Laurent's ear. Laurent stood still as a statue and waited for the touch to be over. He held his breath. His uncle retracted his hand rather quickly. 

"Your hair has gotten long," His uncle said, "I like it. It makes you look younger." 

Laurent's blood ran cold, and when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.

"You wore your hair long as a child, do you remember?" The Lord smiled at the memory, "It was so sweet."

Determined not to show how much the comments were bothering him, Laurent steeled his expression and simply said, "Shame I am not a child anymore." 

What he wanted to say was: _I'm going to have your head on a pike for what you did to me. Just wait._

The Lord's smile slipped a bit as he said, "You certainly are not a child anymore, no."

With that, the Lord lost interest in him and left to speak with someone else.

Laurent could not quite find his breath. When he uncurled his fists, his hands were trembling just slightly. Without thinking, he started across the gardens. He brushed past the guards with a vague mutter of where he was going, and they did not try to stop him.

He hardly registered the walk back to his chambers. His muscles knew the halls well enough that they directed him to his chambers without him ever needing to pay attention to what was going on around him. 

He felt so tense, he was nearly shaking. His mind was racing with swears and memories and more anger than he had felt in quite some time. Anger that such a small comment affected him so much, anger that his uncle was even alive, anger at what had been done to him.

Laurent shoved his doors open and walked to his vanity table. He dropped himself onto the seat in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. 

Sometimes he could not recognize himself. His hands were thin and scholarly, but they wielded knives with the same ease as a pen. His eyes were bright and sharp, but in that moment, they were dull. His blond hair was indeed too long. His uncle was right that it was childish. 

It took Laurent a moment of searching through his desk drawers to find his scissors. They were not often used and tucked between stacks of papers. Laurent considered just using one of his knives, but decided the cuts would be too hack-like. It would be unbecoming if his hair was un-presentable. 

His hands shook just slightly as he took a chunk of his hair between his fingers and, with the other hand, brought up the scissors.

+

By the time he mustered the self-control to get ready for dinner, someone was knocking at his door.

Laurent huffed, "I'm coming, Jord."

The voice on the other side of the door said, "It's not Jord." 

Laurent frowned, "Come in." 

It was Auguste. 

"Hey," Auguste said as he slipped inside, "Are you doing alright? I haven't seen you since this morning." 

"Yeah, I'm just..." Laurent gestured vaguely with his hairbrush. He could not figure out how long he'd been staring at his reflection. Long enough that he looked like a stranger.

Auguste reached out his hand, and uncertainly, Laurent handed him the brush. 

"I know you've been anxious lately," Auguste said. He stood behind Laurent and slid the brush through Laurent's hair. His fingers threaded after the brush, "You cut it?" 

A lump formed in Laurent's throat, and he swallowed painfully before saying, "It was getting too long." 

Auguste smiled, "I like it. It makes you look more mature." 

"Really?" Laurent watched his brother's face through the mirror.

The cut was a bit uneven, but the soft waves in his hair masked the choppiness. 

Auguste said a bit sadly, "Really." 

"Auguste." 

"Sorry. You just look so grown-up," Auguste smiled and shook his head, "I know that should make me happy, but it's difficult. I know you don't understand what I mean, but... well, forget it. You'll understand when you're older."

Laurent looked at his brother in the mirror. Auguste looked grown-up, too, he realized. When he was little, he had not realized how young his brother was when he was made king. 

"You left early this morning," Auguste said, "I turned around, and you were gone. I hope you ate enough." 

"I got a bit overwhelmed. It's just all the extra people," Laurent replied with a little shrug. Auguste tugged a little too harshly at a knot in his hair, and Laurent muttered, "Ow."

"Sorry," Auguste said, "Is something wrong?" You know you can tell me." 

Laurent just shook his head.

"I saw you speaking with Uncle before you left," Auguste said. He was carefully looking at Laurent through the mirror, Laurent noticed. Auguste asked, "What were you talking about?" 

"Nothing. It's not important." 

"Did he say something that upset you?" Auguste asked, "Because I know the two of you do not always get along, but--"

"No," Laurent said too quickly. 

"You would tell me if he did, right?" Auguste asked, frowning. 

Laurent shrugged, "Yeah." 

"Laurent." 

Laurent looked down. He gathered his courage and said, "He is up to something. I haven't figured it out yet, but he is _doing_ something. I can't explain it." 

"Why do you think this?" Auguste asked. He moved to lean against the vanity so he could face Laurent. The concern in his eyes was overwhelming.

"It's..." Laurent shook his head, frustrated with himself for not being able to put it into words. He huffed, "I don't have any proof, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not," Auguste replied.

Laurent frowned, "I just have a bad feeling. I am _so_ certain he's planning something, but I can't figure out what it is."

"What sort of something?" 

Laurent looked his brother in the eye, "He wants you dead, Auguste.I know you don't believe me, but if you could just listen--" 

"You know I trust you, and I am grateful for your concern," Auguste said slowly, "but if he has done something to upset you, I want you to tell me directly. There's no need to spin stories." 

"It isn't a story!" 

Auguste just frowned, and Laurent felt his anger rising.

"You believed him when he made up stories about me," Laurent snapped. 

Auguste paled just a bit and said, "That was a long time ago." 

"I was a child!" Laurent near-shouted, "And you believed him. You let him make up stories about me. Why do you think he did that? Why, if not to turn us against each other?"

Auguste knit his brow, "You know I'm sorry for what happened between us back then." 

"He used to tell me things about you, too," Laurent snapped, "How you were incompetent and how I would be so much better as king. He used to praise me up and down and tell me that I would be a great ruler if one day something happened to you." 

Auguste did not say anything.

"He wanted us to fight," Laurent said, "He wanted us to kill each other. It isn't just that he wants to be king, he wants you dead." 

"Laurent--" 

"Don't," Laurent stood and shook his head, "I don't have any proof, anyway, so there's nothing you can do about it. I just _know_ it, and it is the most frustrating thing in the entire world because I can't prove it." 

Auguste stared at him.

"Why is it too much to ask that you believe me?" Laurent's voice broke off at the end, and he stopped himself from saying anything more. When there was a moment of silence between them, he realized he'd said too much and been too aggressive. Auguste was still the king, and Laurent was not even a prince. It was not right to speak to his brother that way.

He would need something to show his brother, but the assassins were all dead and there was nothing concrete linking the Lord to them, anyway. Laurent had not discovered any secret correspondence between his uncle and Damianos or Theomedes, so there was no proof of a secret plot with the Akielons, either.

Then Auguste said, "I believe you."

Laurent stared at him. 

"I do," Auguste said with a nod. His expression still held skepticism, so Laurent was not completely surprised when Auguste said, "As soon as I have proof, I will act accordingly. Until then, I cannot very well punish a man for a crime I cannot name."

"Proof," Laurent repeated with a little nod.

Auguste smiled, "No one has killed me yet, right? I think I can last a little longer." 

Laurent sighed.

+

Most days, Laurent could skirt by without needing to engage his uncle in one-on-one conversation. They hardly saw each other anymore, with Laurent constantly cooped up in the Counsel chambers or out in the village. 

But that day was an unlucky one. 

It was the next morning, and Laurent had planned to snag breakfast and go back to his chambers before anyone else was awake. 

"I do hope you're not planning to eat _all_ of that," His uncle's voice rang out from behind him.

Laurent suppressed a groan as he turned to face the Lord of Arles, his hands full with a bit of bread and two oranges.

"Good morning," Laurent said dryly.

"To you, too," His uncle frowned, "I see you cut your hair. Such a shame." 

"Well, you inspired me," Laurent arched a brow.

"Ah," The Lord's lips curved into a cruel smile, "I had no idea my words still had such an effect on you, child. I will keep it in mind next time." 

Laurent wanted to scream. How had he messed up this small interaction? He'd been so careful in the past few years, trying to be aware of his uncle's manipulation tactics. How had this one gone over his head?

"I wouldn't worry about it," Laurent grit out. 

The Lord reached out and tapped Laurent once on the nose. He chuckled a bit, "Oh, child. Look at you now. I forget, sometimes, how grown you are."

 _Good_ , Laurent thought to himself. If his uncle forgot how grown he was, he would not consider him to be a threat. The last thing Laurent needed was for his uncle to feel threatened by him.

"You used to be so sweet," His uncle continued, "I miss the days when you were younger. I still think about it sometimes, how soft and gentle you were."

A weight settled over Laurent's chest and pressed down on his lungs. 

"Don't you miss that?" 

Laurent wordlessly shook his head. 

"I do," His uncle replied with a small smile, "I noticed that boy you brought here from the village. The poor little thing with the curly brown hair. He reminds me a bit of you. So young and so sweet. Perhaps--"

"If you touch him, I will kill you," Laurent said suddenly. He could hardly control himself. 

It was too sharp, too real. Laurent pulled back a bit.

His uncle was stunned for only a moment, then broke off into an awkward chuckle, "I was only making small talk. Surely you're familiar with the concept?" 

Laurent pushed past his uncle and walked quickly down the hall. 

He could not catch his breath. No matter how hard he breathed, it didn't seem to be enough. He couldn't force the air down into his lungs, and he choked on every inhale. By the time he stumbled into his chambers, he was gasping and wheezing. 

He sat himself down at his desk and put his head in his hands, then forced himself to take one deep breath after another. It was several minutes before he was breathing evenly again. 

Several long minutes passed. Laurent just stared at the table in front of him and tried everything to keep his mind off of his uncle. 

When he raised his eyes, he looked automatically to the book he'd hollowed out to hide his poison. It had been some time since he'd used it, but maybe now was right. If he didn't do something, his uncle would not stop. Children would be hurt. Auguste would be hurt. And of course, there was some selfishness in it, too. Laurent had endured enough of his uncle. He did not want a day more. 

He moved quietly, as if afraid someone in the empty room would overhear him. He took the book from his shelf and opened it to take out the jar stashed inside the hollowed pages. Two spoonfuls would do the job, but one would not be pleasant. 

With a deep breath, Laurent poured himself a glass of water and scooped one spoonful into it, then swirled the glass. 

Breakfast would have started by now. 

He waited a few more minutes, just staring at the glass and working up his nerve. If he messed this up, there would not be any going back. He had to do this perfectly.

With one final deep breath, Laurent picked up the glass and drank it. 

He was mostly unaffected in the minutes it took him to walk into the hallway and get to the dining hall, but a few steps outside the door, his vision began to swim and he had to catch himself against the wall to keep from falling. His head was starting to hurt, and his breathing felt short. He couldn't be sure if that was from anxiety or a real affect of the poison. 

_Find Auguste._ That's all Laurent could think. 

When he pushed the door open to the dining hall, it was empty. He heard voices coming from the far door, but they were foggy. He wasn't sure if he was really hearing them.

_Focus._

He took careful steps across the hall and to the windows. As he suspected. The nobles were all gathered outside, basking in the morning sun and mingling casually. Laurent just had to make it outside, then he could think about how much his head hurt. 

He stumbled a bit when he stepped into the hall and almost immediately collided with something very firm. His first guess was a wall, but that turned out to be false. 

"My Lord," Prince Damianos steadied him carefully, "are you feeling alright?" 

Laurent's cheeks heated. He was almost certain he was sweating, and he stammered, "Have you seen Auguste?" 

"No, sorry. Are you sure you're fine? You look very pale." Damianos immediately said.

"That's only because I'm standing next to you," Laurent replied with some strain in his voice. The smile wavered on his lips and for a second, his eyes darted off to the side. He asked again, "Do you know where Auguste might be? I can't find him."

Damianos asked, "I'm not sure. Are you quite sure you're feeling alright? Maybe you've caught something. You really don't look very good."

Laurent's eyebrows flicked up in surprise, "Oh? And here I thought you were charming."

It was a poor attempt at a joke and only made it more obvious how much he was struggling. Damianos brushed past it, then reached forward and set the back of his hand against Laurent's forehead. After a few seconds, Damianos determined, "Gods, you have a fever."

"I, um," Laurent tightened his arms around himself, "actually, I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I'm going to go lie down."

"Let me take you to the physician," Damianos offered his hand, which Laurent regarded for a second, then looked back at Damianos' face. He could hardly see straight, but he knew Damianos' face was full of tenderness. It did not matter. Laurent did not want to be alone with a stranger and a potential enemy.

"No, I can go myself." 

Damianos reached for him, "Let me--"

But Laurent said quickly, "Do not touch me."

Damianos retracted his hand quickly, then insisted, "It would not be right of me to let you wander around alone in this state. Let me escort you."

"Really, Prince Damianos," Laurent closed his eyes for a long second and struggled a bit to open them, "I feel fine." 

Before the prince could argue, Laurent's knees buckled. Damianos lurched forward and caught him before he could collapse to the ground, but Laurent could hardly register what was happening. His breathing was shallow and strained. Cursing under his breath in Akielon, Damianos asked gently, "Lord Laurent?" 

Laurent replied with a whispered, "Oh, _fuck_." 

Panic started racing through him. Maybe he'd miscalculated the dosage. He was certain it took a full two spoonfuls to take out his targets, but he started questioning his memories. Maybe he was wrong. They were usually larger than him, after all. 

With gentle urgency, Damianos strewed Laurent's arm around his neck then gathered Laurent's body into his arms. Laurent wanted to argue, but he could not find the strength. His head tipped against Damianos' shoulder.

When Laurent looked up again, they were in a different part of the palace. Had he fallen unconscious? Laurent could not remember. It seemed logical, though, because when he looked to the side, Jord was hurrying along beside them, too. Laurent was almost certain Jord had not been their earlier. 

Laurent lifted his head heavily and muttered, "Damianos?" 

"Hey," Damianos murmured back in that ridiculously smooth accent of his. He met Laurent's eyes briefly, and Laurent thought he would melt. Damianos said, "You're okay. I'm going to keep you safe."

Something trickled onto Laurent's top lip. He lifted his hand to his nose, and his fingers came away bloody. _That is not a good sign_ , he managed to think before his head fell heavily against Damianos' shoulder again.

"You're going to be okay," Damianos promised. A second later, they were in the physician's chambers.

The old man looked up from his desk and paled. He gestured to the table in the center of the room and said, "Set him down."

Damianos did with all the gentleness he could manage. Even though he was careful, Laurent cringed in pain and curled up tighter. Damianos reached forward and brushed a sweaty strand of hair out of Laurent's face. Jord stood on Laurent's other side and muttered something that Laurent found to be incomprehensible but figured was probably meant to be uplifting.

Paschal stood and moved to Laurent's side. Laurent propped himself up on one elbow to look at the physician and brushed the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

"Where's Auguste?" Laurent asked. His breathing was short, and it made his words choppy.

"Hold still, my Lord," The physician gently guided Laurent to lie flat on his back. His tone left no room for argument, but Laurent nodded his assent anyway. Paschal asked him, "Do you have any idea what caused this?"

"Drank something," Laurent murmured, and he caught the way Damianos and Jord exchanged looks at that.

Paschal pursed his lips and took a small vial from his bundle. He lifted it to Laurent's lips and said, "I'll give you a general mixture to strengthen your immune system." Paschal glanced at Damianos to say, "He's having a reaction. Tell the servants to run a bath with hot water. As hot as they can get it. We'll try to sweat the toxins out."

Damianos ordered the servants outside the door to run the bath, then quickly returned to Laurent. He reached forward and took Laurent's hand delicately in his own, and unthinkingly, Laurent squeezed tightly.

"M' head hurts," Laurent murmured to Paschal, who hushed him gently.

"I know, my Lord, just bear with me. We'll have you right as rain soon," Paschal assured him.

"Where's Auguste?" Laurent asked. His eyelids were drooping shut, but he tried to force himself to remain conscious.

"I can go find him for you," Damianos offered.

"Go," Jord agreed, "I'll stay with him." 

Laurent grabbed Damianos by the wrist before he could leave. Damianos stopped and crouched to get down to his level. He really did have impossibly kind eyes, Laurent thought. He felt stupid for thinking about such a thing at a moment like this, but it was impossible not to. 

Laurent murmured, "Tell Auguste I was poisoned."

He then promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took forever to get up, i've been busy with work! but lmk what you think :))


	8. the walk

The next several hours were hazy. Every so often, Laurent would become aware of what was happening around him, but only for a few moments at a time. He knew the shock of the hot water around his body, and he knew someone was muttering soft words to him. He felt hands on his bare skin, but he was too tired to tell them off. 

It wasn't until hours later that he fully woke up. He was laying on a cot in Paschal's chambers, and his whole body was sore. His head did not hurt so much, though. He was wearing a shirt and pants of soft linen and plain make.

As soon as he moved to sit up, someone was gently pushing him back down. For a second, Laurent tried to fight, but he stopped when he saw who it was.

"Lie down. Don't hurt yourself," Auguste said in a soft voice, "How do you feel?" 

"Fine," Laurent replied, and Auguste gave him a look, so he amended, "Better. Still like shit, though." 

A small smile flashed across Auguste's lips, but it quickly slipped. His voice was near-shaking with tension as he said, "A few of the kitchen staff saw you with Uncle that morning. They said he upset you and that you left in a hurry." 

Laurent tried to wrap his head around what was going on. He asked, "How long have I been here?" 

"A little over a day," Auguste said, then he asked sharply, "Did he do this to you?" 

Laurent could not speak. He was worried he might laugh and ruin everything.

"I've been thinking about it, and it makes sense. You two have not gotten along in years, and then you came to me with your theory that he was after the throne. Maybe he knew you were suspicious. Maybe he tried to silence you."

"Maybe," Laurent said. His throat was dry, so he asked, "Can I have some water." 

Auguste nodded quickly and muttered something to himself as he went to retrieve it. When he came back, he held the glass carefully to Laurent's lips.

"Careful," Auguste said when Laurent drank too fast and coughed. 

When Laurent finished drinking, he set his head back on his pillow and muttered, "What has happened since yesterday?"

"I increased the guard. Shorter shifts with more soldiers at a time," Auguste said. He glanced behind himself, then turned back to Laurent and lowered his head just a bit, "I need you to tell me if you know who did this." 

Laurent held his brother's gaze. He said carefully, "You know I can't prove it." 

Auguste took a deep breath. He nodded. 

"If you let me talk to him, I might be able to get him to confess to it," Laurent said. He imagined what he would say. He worked through each point he would need to make.

"No." Auguste shook his head. 

"But--"

" _No_ ," Auguste repeated, firmer this time, "He is never going near you ever again."

Laurent stared at him for a few seconds, his heart swelling with love. 

Not for the first time, Laurent wondered what Auguste would have done if Laurent had come to him after the abuse. In all likelihood, he would have believed Laurent. But there was a tiny sliver of doubt that never left for long enough for Laurent to gather the courage to say anything. Any time he tried, a lump would form in his throat and choke out the words before he could speak them.

"I will talk to him," Auguste said.

"He won't confess," Laurent shook his head, "Not to you." 

Auguste shook his head, "I am not going to let him in the same room as you, certainly not alone." His anger was so strong, it was nearly tangible. 

"Auguste," Laurent murmured, "you can't do anything without a confession." 

"Maybe there is evidence." 

"There won't be," Laurent shook his head, "You know him." 

Auguste was curling his fists. He took a sharp breath and simply said, "I know." 

"Then why--"

"Stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore," Auguste said sharply. Then he heaved a long sigh and buried his head in his hands. A second later, he lifted his head to say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. That was not kind." 

Laurent just shrugged, "It's forgiven." 

His brother smiled warmly and reached across the bed to brush his hair back. Laurent let himself sink into the warmth of the touch, sink into the warmth of the cot. He felt like he could sink forever.

"Get some rest," Auguste said softly when he saw Laurent's eyelids fluttering, "I will be here when you wake." 

+

Auguste was true to his word. When Laurent woke up the second time, his brother was snoring softly in the chair beside Laurent's cot. It could not have been a comfortable position, but the darkness under Auguste's eyes were telling of how little sleep he had been getting recently.

So Laurent got up as quietly as he could. He would need to be quick. 

Of course, as soon as he slipped through the doors, he stumbled into Jord, who looked nearly as tired as Auguste. He was standing straight and had his hand on his spear, clearly guarding the door.

"My Lord," Jord glanced him up and down, "you should not be exerting yourself."

"I am fine. Certainly capable of walking, thank you very much," Laurent replied, trying to look at ease. His stomach was still hurting a bit, but he kept his expression carefully controlled so as not to show it. 

"If you need something, I can send someone to get it for you," Jord replied, "You should lie back down, though. The physician says you may not feel well for a few days."

"I feel perfectly well," Laurent argued, "so I will go on my way now." 

Jord sighed, "I will accompany you, then." 

"I don't require a babysitter," Laurent rolled his eyes, "I will be fine." 

"There is an assassin somewhere who has already tried to kill you once," Jord argued, "so I hope you can understand why your brother the king does not want you to be alone before the culprit is apprehended." 

Laurent opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it again when his name was called from behind. He turned and bowed when he saw Prince Damianos approaching.

"Your Highness," Laurent said.

Damianos smiled, "Really, my Lord, there is no need for formalities. I was just on my way to come visit you, but I see that you are already doing better." 

"I am resilient," Laurent replied, then he turned to Jord and said, "Perhaps Damianos can accompany me. I believe we can trust him, seeing as he saved my life." Not entirely true, but the words seemed to strike a chord in Jord. 

Jord frowned, but gave a little nod.

Laurent turned back to Damianos, who had an amused smile on his face and asked, "And where might we be going?"

"I owe you a tour of the library," Laurent replied, forcing a soft smile onto his lips. 

Damianos inclined his elbow for Laurent, and begrudgingly, Laurent accepted.

When they were far enough away from Jord, Laurent said, "I don't want to go to the library." 

"No?" Damianos laughed a bit, "Where are we going then, my Lord?" 

Laurent answered, "Someplace private. My chambers." 

That answer seemed to catch Damianos off guard. His response was a cautious: "Oh? And what would you like to do in private?" 

"I have something I would like to talk to you about," Laurent replied, "and I'd really rather no one find out." 

"Is everything alright?" 

"Yes," But Laurent's tone was too uncertain, "I am just trying to decide whether or not to trust you."

"Well, I did save your life," Damianos said with a small smile. 

"You did _not_ ," Laurent rolled his eyes, then quickly corrected himself, "I would give more credit to Paschal. He did the real work."

"Ah, you're right. I really did nothing of importance," Damianos replied in sarcastic humor. He laughed a bit, then said more seriously, "I am glad to see you get up so quickly. I was worried for a moment that you would die right there in my arms."

Laurent ducked his head to hide the way his cheeks burned. 

"Yes, well, you really did not have to carry me like a maiden. That was entirely unnecessary." 

"My apologies, my Lord, next time I will put you over my shoulder like a farmer does a sack of potatoes. To preserve your dignity, of course." 

They arrived outside Laurent's doors, and Damianos pushed them open and stepped aside for Laurent to enter first. Immediately, Laurent went to sit on his bed, where he had a knife stashed under the pillow. He set his hand casually on the mattress, just inches away from the blade should he need it.

"Come sit down." 

Damianos looked at him sitting on the bed, then said a bit awkwardly, "Right. I will get a chair." He then took the chair from Laurent's bed and brought it a few feet in front of where Laurent was sitting rather than to sit on the bed with him. 

"How is your fiancee?" Laurent asked. He gauged Damianos' face. From what he could tell, the Akielon was not much good at hiding his expressions, but Laurent needed to be certain of this before he asked anything truly important.

"No longer my fiancee, I'm afraid," Damianos replied, "She had taken to another." 

There was a little sadness in his tone. 

"Oh," Laurent said, suddenly feeling awkward. 

"She and my brother are to be married soon," Damianos offered the information willingly, then he smiled a bit, "But you did not bring me here to make small talk, did you, my Lord?" 

"Just wanted to break the ice," Laurent replied. Damianos arched a brow, and Laurent continued, "I need to know if you have had any correspondence with my uncle, the Lord of Arles. Letters, conversations, anything." 

"I spoke to him briefly at the party in the gardens," Damianos said, and it took Laurent a moment to realize he meant the brunch. Damianos said, "It was not terribly interesting, I'm afraid. Just some small introductions. He seemed more interested in my father." 

"What did he say?" 

Damianos paused for a long moment, then said, "Nothing." 

Laurent's fingers slipped closer to his knife. He said, "Tell me. I want to know."

Damianos shook his head, "You would not be interested." 

"I am interested." 

"He had some..." Damianos sighed, "words for you."

Laurent knit his brow, "You talked about me?" 

"He told me not to get too excited. He said you do not, uh, take _partners_ ," Damianos explained, and immediately Laurent's cheeks flushed. Damianos hurried to say, "I assure you, my Lord, your personal relations are no concern of mine. I have never meant you any disrespect." 

Laurent waved his hand dismissively, "It's no matter. Forget it." 

"Oh," Damianos looked surprised, "That is not what you expected me to say?" 

"Obviously not." 

"Then what..." Damen knit his brow, then asked carefully, "My Lord, what are you after?" 

Laurent drew himself together and said, "I am deciding whether or not I can ask you for a favor." 

"Ask me for anything. I will do all I can."

Laurent frowned. He did not know Damianos well enough to know his intentions or his ideals. But Damianos had helped him in a time of need, and in all honesty, Laurent had not expected that. If Damianos were really his enemy, why rush him to the physician? Unless that was also part of his plan-- earning Laurent's trust only to turn on him later.

Laurent's head was starting to hurt again. Maybe the medicine was wearing off. Maybe he was thinking too much.

"I need to speak with my uncle, but Auguste refuses to let me," Laurent finally admitted, "I just need a minute alone with him." 

Damianos leaned forward in his chair, "Why?" 

"Because," Laurent hesitated, "he is responsible for what happened to me."

Damianos' face softened.

"I am sorry," He said gently, "To be harmed by a family member must be truly horrible. I cannot imagine it. Are you quite certain it was him?"

"Yes," Laurent answered, "and I need to get him to confess."

"I could speak to him on your behalf, so you do not have to be in harm's way." The earnestness in Damianos' eyes surprised Laurent. They were little more than strangers. Laurent could not figure out why Damianos was so gentle with him.

Laurent shook his head, "No, it has to be me. It won't work if it isn't me. I just need you to guard the door." 

Damianos considered it for a few moments. He did not look entirely convinced it was a good idea. He said, "I am obligated to follow your brother the king's judgement. I am a guest in his kingdom, after all, and you are so precious to him." 

Trying not to get frustrated, Laurent muttered the word: "Please." It came out sounding much more genuine than he intended, and even Laurent himself was wondering if he really meant it.

When he gathered his wit, he continued. The words spilled out of him, each one a bit too genuine for comfort. Laurent felt entirely naked as he talked. He could not remember the last time he was so unguarded.

"If I can't get him to confess soon, the moment of opportunity will pass. I just need... I need this. I need him to be caught, and I need justice." Laurent took a shaky breath, "He is not a kind man. He has done horrible things in the past, and I cannot stand it any longer. He's gone too long without seeing the consequences for his actions, and I... I just need this. I cannot explain it any better." 

Damianos was silent for a few seconds longer, then hesitantly said, "Alright." 

"Alright?" 

"I can tell it means a lot to you, so I will help you," Damianos said, "but you are still in a fragile state. You cannot hesitate to call for me if something goes wrong-- if he tries to harm you again." 

"I will be fine," Laurent slipped his hand under his pillow and pulled his knife. It was the same one Aimeric had given him years ago. 

When he looked up, Damianos was staring at him, slack-jawed. Laurent tucked the knife into his waistband and gave a little smile, which only made Damianos knit his brow more. 

"What?" 

"You keep a knife under your pillow?" 

Laurent just gestured vaguely to the knife and nodded.

"Why?" 

"You know," Laurent shrugged, "just in case." 

Damianos glanced him over, "Do you know how to use it?" 

_You have no idea._

"Sure," Was all Laurent said.

Damianos did not look entirely convinced, but he nodded slowly and stood from his chair. Laurent got up to lead the way. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was so close to victory, it nearly hurt. All he knew was that he had to succeed right then, or he would never get a chance like this ever again.

He hardly paid attention the entire walk over to his uncle's chambers. He had not been there in some time, but his legs remembered the way. His mind raced, and he tried all he could to keep his breathing even. He could show no fear.

Laurent knocked on the heavy door, and Damianos said to him, "I will be right outside, if you should need me." 

_I won't,_ Laurent thought. _  
_

"Okay," Laurent said.

The door swung open, and the Lord of Arles looked surprised to see Laurent.

"I did not think you would be up so soon," The Lord said, "Why are you here?" 

Laurent tried to keep his expression neutral. No fear.

"I need to speak with you," He then pushed his way inside the room, and the door closed loudly behind them.

Laurent hated this place. It made his skin crawl. It made his mind race and his heart pound. He hated it here. He wanted nothing more than to leave.

Turning to his uncle, he said, "You need to confess to poisoning me." 

The Lord balked. Something resembling a laugh escaped his lips. He said, "You have to be joking." 

"I am not," Laurent replied. He set his shoulders back and lifted his chin, "Auguste already suspects you did it." 

The Lord narrowed his eyes and said dryly, "I wonder why." 

"I'll make you a deal," Laurent said, "If you do not confess, I'll tell him what you did to me." 

Silence sat between them for a long moment. The Lord took a small step forward, but Laurent held his ground. His breaths were shallow and his heart was too fast, but he was determined. This time, he was going to win.

"Dear child," His uncle said, deathly calm, "he will not believe you."

"Yes, he will. He always would have, and you know it, too," Laurent replied. Sadness and guilt ate at him for admitting to it.

"You little snake," The Lord snarled, "I wish I _had_ poisoned you. I would have ensured the appropriate dosage."

"I agree. You should have and you likely would have, if you were really serious about becoming king," Laurent replied easily, "If I were you, I would have disposed of me years ago. If I were in your position, I would have been better."

"I will be allowed to speak before the execution. I'll tell everyone what you blackmailed me and that you are a liar. I'll tell them you were half-crazed from medication. Enough people in the court know you dislike me. They know what you are capable of."

"Do _you_?" Laurent asked, cocking his head.

"Do I what?"

"Do you know what I am capable of?" Laurent clarified, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips, "Because if you did, I imagine you would not have underestimated me so drastically. So it seems to me that you have no idea what I am capable of, and you will suffer for it."

He was teetering on a knife's edge. It felt as if his sanity were slipping away. Victory was intoxicating. He sobered himself to say, "Auguste might believe you if you claim your innocence in this crime, but he will certainly believe me about your previous crimes."

There was silence between them as the Lord considered the words.

"Which crime do you think he will punish more severely?" Laurent asked slowly, careful to be understood, "Poison or rape?"He stuttered for a second when he said the word out loud, then he quickly continued, "Either is certain death, but I have a feeling he will be more brutal toward one than the other."

"I will not lose my head because of your little game," The Lord snarled.

"Yes, you will," Laurent replied. He'd never been more certain of something in his life, "One way or another." 

The Lord set his jaw. Laurent had never seen so much anger in another person's eyes, though there might have been something else in there, too. It took him a moment to place it as fear. The thought nearly made him smile. His uncle was afraid. What a sweet thought.

"You can confess to him by tonight, or I will tell him after supper," Laurent said, "It's your choice." 

With that, he exited the room. 

Damianos was there, waiting diligently for him. He smiled when Laurent appeared.

"Did it go well?" He asked lightly.

Laurent nodded, "I think so." 

He prayed to all the gods that his uncle would confess. He did not like the alternative. 

"I am glad," Damianos said with a small smile, "I'll escort you back to the physician's chambers." 

Laurent wanted to argue, but he knew it would be of no use, so he just nodded and walked beside Damianos. His fingers went automatically to the knife at his belt, and he ran his fingers methodically over the hilt and the flat of the blade. Holding it made him feel safer. 

"You are very brave," Damianos said suddenly, and Laurent, only half paying attention, looked up sharply at the sound.

"Huh?" He asked eloquently.

"For doing that," Damianos clarified, "It was brave of you, to confront him." 

"Oh," Laurent was not sure what to say to that, so he just said, "It's nothing. I'm sure you've had your fair share of confrontations, too, being a warrior and all." 

Damianos shook his head, "I have not had a real fight since the treaty was signed."

"Verbal confrontation, then." 

"I have not had much of a need as of late," Damianos said with a little smile, "You are deflecting my compliment." 

"Surely you have gotten into arguments." 

"I am not an argumentative person," Damianos laughed a bit when he watched Laurent's reaction, "What do you take me for? Some violent, hot-head warrior prince?"

That was exactly how he had imagined Damianos, so Laurent quickly said, "No."

"That's alright. I had some misconceptions about you, too."

"What were they?" 

"I thought you would be a bit more..." Damianos searched for the right word, "dull." 

"You thought I was _dull_?" Laurent had never heard something more insulting.

Quickly, Damianos backtracked, "No, no. Perhaps I misspoke. From your letters, I just assumed you were... well, you never seemed particularly interested, and you made minor mistakes here and there. I thought perhaps you were, ah, not particularly sharp."

That was exactly what Laurent had intended, but it still offended him to hear that his tactic had worked so well.

"I see," Laurent said.

"I was wrong," Damianos quickly said, "I can see that now." 

"You don't hardly know the first thing about me," Laurent rolled his eyes.

"I think I do." 

Dryly, Laurent said, "Enlighten me." 

"I think you're smart. I can see it in your sharp eyes. And I think you're tricky. You use a knife rather than a sword because you know you can conceal it," Damianos' smile grew as he spoke, "I think you made me think you were dull on purpose, so I would underestimate you." 

Laurent frowned. He searched Damianos' face-- the bright eyes and the dopey smile. He sighed, "I guess it did not work." 

"I'm afraid you miscalculated," Damianos replied.

This was by far the most offensive thing Damianos had said, so Laurent could not hide the sharpness in his voice as he snapped, "I beg your pardon?" 

"Your brother speaks too highly of you. He told me you were the cleverest man in the kingdom." 

"He is biased."

"Maybe," Damianos said with a little shrug, "but everyone I asked seemed to agree with him."

"They have to agree, he is the king," Laurent paused, then asked, "You asked about me?" 

"Another miscalculation, I'm afraid," Damianos said with a nod.

Laurent scowled openly. 

"You are far too pretty for anyone to ignore," Damianos told him, and Laurent's cheeks burned. He remained scowling, but he turned his head to hide his flush. Damianos continued relentlessly, "Obviously I asked after you. Clever, brilliant, beautiful, and for some reason, pretending to be none of those things. You can see why I was intrigued." 

"So you only paid attention to me because of how I look," Laurent arched his brows, "That seems an awfully superficial reason." 

"I confess, I was caught up in appearances for a moment," Damianos agreed, "but looks become boring after time, and I imagine you will be interesting forever."

"Ah, so you already find my looks boring?"

Damianos shook his head, a smile on his face. Then he sobered himself to say, "I would like to get to know you better. If you would allow it, of course." 

Laurent paused. Could he be certain Damianos was not an enemy? It seemed ridiculous. They had not known each other for long enough for Laurent to make that sort of judgement. But if he spent time with Damianos, he would learn more about this possible enemy. The unfortunate side effect was that Damianos would learn more about him, too.

"See?" Damianos nudged him lightly, "A dull person would not think about a simple question for so long." 

"Maybe I did not understand the question and have to work it out." 

Damianos laughed. 

"Fine," Laurent said shortly, "You can spend time with me." 

Damianos came to a halt in front of the physician's chambers, then bowed far too low for a prince to bow to a mere councilman. 

"You are very gracious, my Lord," Damianos said dramatically.

"You are very ridiculous, your Highness Prince Damianos," Laurent replied.

Damianos smiled, "You can call me Damen." 

"Damen," Laurent repeated.

"I'll see you later, then," Damen said, and Laurent gave a small bow. 

With that, Damen left, and Laurent turned to face Jord, who was still guarding the door and did not look entirely amused. Jord raised an eyebrow, and Laurent scowled.

"What?" 

"I didn't say anything," Jord replied, then he opened the door for Laurent. 

The sound of the creaking door woke Auguste from his nap, and Laurent hurried back to his cot as his brother groggily became aware that he was no longer there.

Half-asleep, Auguste mumbled, "Did you leave?" 

"Just went on a walk." 

"You should not be overexerting yourself," Auguste replied, then gestured for Laurent to get back into bed, and Laurent complied.

"I was not," Laurent said, "It was short. Just a little walk around." 

"You should have woken me, I would have come with you," Auguste said, then he looked up sharply, "Were you alone?" 

"No, Damianos went with me," Laurent replied, "He came here to check up on me." 

"I see," Auguste said slowly. He was quiet for a few seconds longer, then said, "That is good. I'm glad you had someone with you. I owe him a great thanks for what he did for you."

Laurent just nodded and settled against his pillow. 

Several hours passed before he knew anything of his uncle's decision. Laurent fell in and out of sleep, drank herbal tea, and spoke softly with Auguste about nothing in particular. Laurent had a suspicion that Auguste slept, too, when Laurent dozed off.

It was getting late. Laurent could see the sun setting through the physician's wide windows. There was a knock at the door, and Jord stepped inside hurriedly without asking for permission, which was already odd. He bowed low before King Auguste, then said, "Your uncle the Lord of Arles has requested an audience." 

Auguste knit his brow, "Regarding?" 

"It is a confession, your Grace." 

Laurent forced himself not to smile. He tried to tamper down the rising excitement in his chest. 

_I win._

He tried not to get ahead of himself. There were still variables in this equation. He could not celebrate just yet. He needed to see his uncle's execution before he could really be victorious.

_I win._

When Auguste left hastily, Laurent let himself smile just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the comments + kudos :))


	9. the lie

The execution would be at the end of the week. Auguste said it was for reasons with the court, but Laurent suspected it was really because he wanted Laurent to be there to see it.

Laurent recovered rather quickly. By the end of the second day, he felt nearly normal.

Everything seemed to be going exactly as planned. But as was usually the case, that did not last.

Years ago, Herode had warned Laurent that a frightened enemy was a dangerous one. He was about to learn just how true that was.

Since his uncle's arrest, Laurent had unprecedented access to the Lord's records. He could sit in his uncle's chambers and read through his notes, his files, his check stubs. The Lord was better connected than even Laurent had assumed. There were records of correspondence between him and other nobles. He'd been garnering supporters for a coup.

Laurent compiled a list of names. Several were nobles, some were guards, and others were common folk. There was Govart, one of the higher ranking guards. There was Guion's oldest son. There were many Laurent did not know. Those bothered him the most.

In the few hours before being arrested, his uncle had been busy. Laurent realized that much very quickly.

He spent the better part of his sick days pouring over the Counsel records, cross-referencing arrest reports with the list he'd made. He found several possible assassins, but he focused on the ones his uncle had had financial correspondence with. Of those, he found three. He focused on the one who had been paid the same day he had confronted his uncle. No coincidence, that was the man paid the most.

It was all too much. The address was too easy to find, the check stubs too sloppily hidden. The amount of money paid to the assassins was ridiculous. It was all too clumsy; it had none of his uncle's usual carefulness. That made Laurent smile. His uncle must have been very afraid.

He scribbled the name and address of the man and stuffed the parchment into his pocket.

"Are you busy?"

Laurent whirled around, exclaiming, "Fuck."

Damen laughed a bit, "I did not mean to frighten you."

"How did you find me?" Laurent knit his brow.

"A friend of yours told me you would be here."

Laurent just stared at him.

"A little boy. Curly hair, big eyes."

Nicaise. Laurent sighed.

"It's good to see you, my Lord," Damen said, smiling brightly as a school child and seemingly blind or at least ignorant of Laurent's annoyance, "You look nice."

Laurent did all he could not to visibly recoil at the compliment. He muttered, "And you."

"Will you be attending tonight's festivities?"

Laurent shook his head.

"Oh," Damen looked disappointed. It was astonishing to Laurent how open Damen was with his expressions. It did not make much sense. Damen continued, "That's a shame. I thought you might be up for it by now. I was looking forward to seeing you there."

"Afraid I'm busy," Laurent said as lightly as he could, "I'm behind on some work with the Counsel. So, no festivities for me."

"Perhaps I can keep you company while you work then?" Damen did not try to hide his hope, "You see, when I first arrived I wanted to see if the rumors about the, uh, erotic dancers were true, but I must say, they lose shock value after the first few days."

Laurent frowned, "I don't think they're intended for shock value." He was about to get around to answering Damen's question, but Damen was faster.

He laughed loudly, a clear and unbothered sound. Unashamed, uncaring of anyone who might be eavesdropping. Laurent could only stare at him. He could not remember the last time he himself had laughed like that, but it made his stomach feel all fluttery.

"It won't be interesting," Laurent said quickly when Damen stopped his laughted, "My work, I mean, so there's not much point in you staying around while I work tonight. It'll be boring."

It was a flimsy response, but Laurent thought it sounded better than saying _Sorry, I mean to go kill someone. Rain check?  
_

Damen studied his face for a long moment, then finally said, "If you do not want my company, you need only say so. I won't impose myself."

Laurent's cheeks heated, "That's not what I--"

"Is it?" Damen interrupted. There was nothing particularly sharp-edged or annoyed in Damen's tone, but Laurent felt scolded anyway. He'd been caught in a lie. It was an embarrassment, really.

"I work better alone," Laurent admitted.

"That's fine," Damen nodded.

"But," Laurent fiddled with his fingers, "I am free now. For a bit."

Immediately, Damen broke into a wide smile that dimpled his cheeks. Laurent's heart skipped a beat, and his thoughts slowed. It seemed like time slowed down every time Laurent saw that damned dimple, like he was moving through molasses every time Damen smiled.

"Good!" Damen exclaimed. He extended his elbow to Laurent, who stared at it blankly for a moment before his mind caught up with him. He took Damen's arm, and Damen said, "Let's walk outside. You look like you could use some sun."

Laurent did not argue with that. He had not been outside much in the recent days, and the thought of sunlight on his skin was a pleasant one.

"You are holding up well," Damen said as they stepped through the doors. The sun was high in the clear sky.

The dosage had not been nearly enough to do the damage everyone seemed to expect, but Laurent did not say that.

"I'm not delicate," Laurent replied with a little arch of his brow.

Damen smiled, "I am glad to hear it."

There was something strange about the way Damen was looking at him. Laurent had not seen that look before. It was too soft to be lust and too intense to be indifference.

Laurent redirected his attention to the grounds in front of them. They were walking along the narrow stone path, lined on either side by bushes of flowers. They passed one particular bush of bright pink flowers, and Laurent remembered his poison. He glanced at Damen and reminded himself that this very well may be an enemy, no matter how kind he seemed.

The narrowness of the path forced them to walk very close to one another. Laurent tried not to react every time his arm brushed against Damen's, which was often.

"It's a beautiful day," Damen said, his eyes still on Laurent.

Laurent tried not to be annoyed. He hated small talk. He forced a small smile and said, "Yes."

"It is chilly at night, though," Damen noted, then with a little laugh, "Last night, there were drinks served in the gardens, and I thought I would freeze. My brother was the only one of us clever enough to bring a cloak. In Akielos, it does not change too much at night. It is hot all the time."

"Your brother," Laurent repeated. He searched his mind, then said, "Kastor."

"That's right," Damen said. When the sun was on him, he looked like a god. Laurent looked down at the flowers.

"Are you two close?"

Damen's face changed just marginally, "We were. But enough of that, let's speak on more important matters."

Laurent's breath stuttered. Immediately, he imagined that this had all been a set-up to get him alone and outside of the palace. He dropped his fingers carefully to the knife in his opposite sleeve, readying himself to draw. There was another hidden in his boot, should the need arise. It probably would, given the circumstances.

"I wanted to talk about you," Damen said, "Tell me about yourself."

"There isn't much to tell," Laurent replied. Of course. It would be foolish to attack during the light of day, out in the open where anyone could see.

"Well, that's not true," Damen shook his head, "You renounced your claim to the throne and became a member of the Royal Counsel at eighteen. Your brother claims you are the cleverest man in the world."

"Seems you already know the important bits."

"I disagree," Damen replied.

"Well, what do you want to know, then?"

Damen thought for a moment, then asked, "What do you do when you're bored?"

Laurent thought this might be some sort of joke, but Damen was looking at him with honest earnest. Laurent said, "I like to read. And I like riding."

"What sort of books do you read?"

Laurent shrugged, "I read about strategy. War."

Damen arched a brow.

"Sometimes I read folktales," Laurent admitted.

"Folktales?"

Laurent translated the word to Akielon, and Damen could not hide his surprise. He stared at Laurent like he'd grown an extra head, though he smiled as brightly as ever.

"You know Akielon!" Damen said it in Akielon.

Laurent clasped his hands in front of him, and continued to speak Damen's language, "A bit. I thought it would be a good skill to have."

"You do not have translators?"

"I don't," Laurent frowned, "I don't want to be forced to trust someone else with my correspondence."

Damen hummed a noncommittal sound. He said, "You have a bit of an accent, but your pronunciation is good. Very impressive."

Laurent said in Veretian, "I have an accent?"

"Do not be offended," Damen also switched back to Veretian, "I like it. It's sweet."

Laurent did not say anything to that. He didn't think he would be able to if he tried.

"Tell me about your folktales."

Laurent shook his head, "They're childish. Cautionary tales for children, really. Most of them have some sort of moral: _don't talk to strangers_ , stuff like that."

Damen smiled, "We have similar stories in Akielos. I did not care for them all too much as a child. I was a bit reckless, you see. I wanted to be a warrior, and I had no patience for anything else. I would spar with practice swords until I could collapse from exhaustion."

"Aren't you?" Laurent asked, "A warrior, I mean."

Damen studied him for a long moment before finally saying, "No. There is no war."

Laurent frowned. Technically, that was true, but Laurent had never thought so.

After the silence that followed, Damen said, "Your uncle will be executed soon. I imagine it will be public."

"I know."

"I am sorry."

"I have very little love in my heart for my uncle," Laurent scoffed. He'd been hoping for this day since he was a child, and it was steadily approaching. He was only sorry he had to wait a few more days.

"I understand," Damen said, "but it must still be difficult, to be hurt by someone so close to you. I cannot imagine how I would feel if a family member betrayed me in such a way. I'm sure it is very difficult for you."

Laurent just nodded. It had been difficult-- the first time his uncle betrayed his trust. But he was younger then, and he had not understood what any of it meant. He had not fully understood when it was happening, he just knew that it hurt and he wanted it to stop. It was only later that he felt violated. It was only later that he grieved for himself. 

He was done grieving now. He was done feeling hurt, now he would make his uncle hurt.

"I read somewhere that people stay alive for a bit, after their head is cut off," Laurent said, "Some Patran claimed they saw a prisoner's eyes moving for a few seconds afterwards. Do you think that's true? I always thought it would be immediate."

He thought back to Guion's execution when he was a child. He could not remember it all too well. Had Guion's eyes darted around after his head hit the ground? Laurent could not remember. Maybe they had.

When he looked up again, Damen was staring at him, and Laurent thought maybe this was not the best thing to bring up while they were still so new to each other.

"You have a dark mind," Was all Damen said, and Laurent sighed.

"I know," He shrugged, "Sorry. That was too much."

Damen shook his head and asked in an impossibly light tone for the subject matter, "Why are you thinking about that?"

Laurent hesitated. If he spoke his mind, he would surely drive Damen away. It would be smarter to keep these thoughts to himself.

But Damen prompted, "I don't mind a dark topic here and there, so long as it is balanced. You shouldn't keep dark thoughts to yourself. It is unhealthy. Tell me what you are thinking."

The look in Damen's dark eyes was so gentle, Laurent thought he could melt. The light caught in his curls and enriched his dark skin. He looked ethereal. Laurent had never put much of his faith into the gods, but if they did exist, Laurent imagined they would not hold a candle to Damianos.

So Laurent said, "I want him to suffer. Just a little."

Damen did not recoil in shock or horror. Instead, he nodded. He set a heavy hand on Laurent's shoulder and said, "I know."

"And you still like me?" Laurent asked. After he said it, he thought of a dozen better ways to phrase it in his head, but something about Damen's presence rendered him useless. His heart was pounding and his hands felt clammy.

Damen stopped walking. He plucked a flower from the bush nearest to him and tucked it into Laurent's hair. He said, with a smile as soft as the flower petals, "I still like you."

Laurent became very lightheaded and thought for a moment he would pass out. He blamed this feeling on the recent poisoning, of course.

"Oh," Was all Laurent could say.

"Oh?" Damen laughed. He linked arms with Laurent again and said, "It's nearly lunchtime. Are you hungry? You should eat something."

Laurent had not been planning on attending lunch with the masses, but he wanted an extra second with Damen, so he said, "Yes, I'm hungry."

"Good!" Damen smiled wider now, and Laurent stared up at the dimple that appeared on his cheek, "I have to admit, I am not the biggest fan of Veretian food. It's all a bit bland, I think. Not nearly enough spices."

Laurent replied, "I haven't had Akielon food."

"One day, perhaps," Damen said, and Laurent chose not to read into that too much.

+

At lunch, Auguste commented, "You have a flower in your hair."

Laurent replied, "Do I?" Then he quickly took a bite of bread to prevent any further inquiries.

+

Laurent took the flower out that night, when he was getting ready. It was an oleander flower, he realized when he stepped back to look at it. He pressed it between the pages of a book.

At that point, Laurent had gotten ready to go into town so many times, it was muscle memory. He put on his common clothes and strapped his throwing knives to his thigh, then put Aimeric's knife in his belt and stashed another blade in his sleeve. He kept a vial of oleander powder in his pocket, but he was unsure if he would be needing it.

Dinner was in full swing as Laurent hurried through the halls. He heard laughter and loud music coming from the dining room, and he walked a little faster.

The streets were busy when Laurent picked his way toward the address he'd scribbled down. He checked the paper when he stopped outside the door, then moved to look through the window. He saw a figure at the kitchen table, facing the opposite way.

Laurent knocked. Under his cloak, he wrapped his fingers around his first throwing knife.

The door opened, and Laurent froze.

"It's been a while," Aimeric said. Laurent's grip loosened on his knife.

"What are you--"

"Come inside, and I'll explain," Aimeric said with a gesture of his head.

Laurent followed him, drawing his knife just in case.

Aimeric led him into the apartments and sat again at the table. He smiled and gestured for Laurent to sit as well.

"What is this?" Laurent asked, "You're not supposed to be here."

"Expecting someone else?" Aimeric arched a brow.

"Yes," Laurent snapped, "Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're full of shit," Annoyance was raising in Laurent, and he could feel himself losing his temper. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then said, "I thought you were in Fortaine."

He did not hear Aimeric's reply before someone jumped him from behind. A wet cloth was pressed around his face, and Laurent panicked before he remembered how to fight. Wildly, he thrashed and kicked, then found it in him to drive his knife into his attacker's thigh.

The man cursed loudly and threw him to the ground, but the damage was done. Laurent recognized the smell as the same thing Paschal had given him to put him to sleep.

In his few remaining seconds of consciousness, Laurent hissed at Aimeric, "You are such a cunt."

+

It was still dark when he woke up, which Laurent took to be a good sign. He could not have been asleep for long. His joints ached, though.

He struggled to sit up. He was on the floor, his hands bound behind him and his ankles tied. When he managed to sit up, he became dizzy and barely managed to keep himself upright.

"Doing alright?"

Laurent glanced over. Aimeric was sitting lazily on the bed, flipping through a book. Laurent rolled his eyes.

"Asshole," Laurent muttered.

"Bitch," Aimeric countered.

"My uncle put you up to this?" Laurent asked. His head was still spinning.

"Yeah. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought it would be nice to see an old friend," Aimeric said with a shrug.

"And now what?"

Aimeric glanced out the window, "Well, the sun will be up in an hour or so. I thought we could have a chat. Kill some time, you know."

"I don't want to talk to you," Laurent tugged on his bonds, "Where's the other guy?"

"He went home. He's one of your uncle's."

"Oh yeah? Where's he live? I just want to talk to him."

"Ha. Very funny," Aimeric set his book aside and propped his head up on his hand, "You talk in your sleep."

"I do _not_."

"You do so."

"What did I say?"

"Fuck if I know. It was in Akielon, I think," Aimeric replied, "and it was all mumbles, anyway. Really annoying, I thought about gagging you."

"Shithead."

"Dick."

"Why are you working for him?" Laurent snapped, then when Aimeric didn't say anything, Laurent took a deep breath. He oriented himself and said more calmly, "I know what he did to you. It was wrong. You have to know that." 

Aimeric just looked at him, "What do you know?"

"I know," Was all the justification Laurent gave.

Aimeric looked at him for a long time, then huffed a little laugh, "Shit. He did it to you, too, huh?"

Laurent froze.

"I should have guessed," Aimeric shook his head, laughing under his breath without humor.

"It was wrong," Laurent repeated.

"I know it was," Aimeric replied, "but I still don't want him to die. Not yet, anyway."

"Why not? Aren't you angry?"

_Doesn't it make you sick? Don't you just want to kill him with your hands? Don't you hate looking at yourself? Doesn't it make you so angry you're nearly nauseous? Don't you frighten yourself with your own anger?_

Aimeric said, "Sometimes. Sometimes, I still love him, though."

"He never loved you back."

"Maybe," Aimeric answered, then he shook his head, "but maybe he did. It doesn't matter, anyway. I loved him, and I don't want him to die. Is that so extreme? To not want someone you used to care about to die? Besides, it's not like I did this for free." 

Aimeric got up from the bed and walked over to Laurent. They were quiet for another minute.

"You look well," Aimeric said, "I knew you'd turn out to be pretty."

Laurent huffed, "Same to you."

"Yeah," Aimeric shrugged, then he took his knife from his belt. He dropped it to the floor a few feet from where Laurent was sitting and said, "See you around."

It took Laurent the better part of an hour to get the knife into his hands and maneuver it to cut his binds. He had a difficult time moving around the blade without being able to see it, and he made several shallow cuts in his palms before he managed to catch the rope. Then it was a bit of a process to saw through the material. It all took far longer than Laurent had thought it would, and it frustrated him immensely. Aimeric would be long gone.

Ridiculous, Laurent thought as the ropes around his wrists finally broke. Maybe it would be worthwhile to practice escaping situations like this one. He could have one of the guards tie him up and leave him with a knife. Laurent imagined how Jord would react to being asked to do that.

Laurent found the remainder of his knives on the kitchen table and quickly put them back on. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon as he slipped out the door and began making his way back to the palace.

As he walked, his dread grew. Something had happened last night. That was all he knew. He tried to prepare himself for the worst, but he couldn't bear to think about it. He tried to convince himself that no matter what happened, it would be okay. So long as Auguste was alive, everything would be okay.

There were twice as many guards at the gate as usual, and Laurent had to lower his cloak to convince them to let him through. Upon seeing his face, the guards stepped aside quickly.

Laurent ran across the grounds and up the stairs to his chambers. He changed as quickly as he could, just to avoid suspicion. He removed his common shirt and threw on a night shirt instead, hoping people would think he had just woken up. Then he dashed back out.

He hurried to the Counsel Chambers, where Herode and Vannes were already speaking in hushed voices.

Laurent asked quickly, "Where's Auguste?"

"Throne room," Herode said, then more gently, "Caution yourself."

Laurent did not stop to think about what that meant as he ran the rest of the way to his brother. Outside the door, a familiar guard named Lazar stopped him, "The king is not in the mood for visitors."

"Let me through, or I'll have you whipped," Laurent snapped, and Lazar opened the door for him.

The throne room was lavish. Laurent did not see it often, only when Auguste called for his advice on something. It took him by surprise every time. Tapestries depicting battles and romances and gods lined the walls, and at the center of the long hall was the throne. Auguste was not there. He was pacing the length of the room, sword drawn.

"What happened?" Laurent asked. He wanted to run to his brother and hug him, but Auguste did not look to be experiencing the same relief Laurent was.

"He's gone," Auguste said. He stopped pacing to watch Laurent approach. He said, "Last night. Two of the guards found dead, another apparently a traitor."

 _Govart_. Laurent did not speak.

"Can you believe it? A traitor," Auguste huffed and shook his head.

"Who's gone?"

Auguste's shoulders slumped a bit, and he simply said, "Laurent, I'm sorry."

"No," Laurent shook his head, "No, no, no, no. No." He couldn't catch his breath. He brought his hands to his hair and tightened his grip.

"It's my fault," Auguste muttered, "I should have killed him on the spot."

"No," Laurent shook his head.

"I wanted it to be public, I wanted everyone to see. I wanted _you_ to see," Auguste cursed. He then said, "I should have just done it right then. I shouldn't have given him another second. He didn't deserve another second, not after hurting you."

"I lied," Laurent blurt. His heart was pounding and he could not catch his breath. Shakily, he repeated, "I lied."

"You what?"

"This is all my fault," Laurent coughed and choked on his breath, "If I had just told you the truth, this wouldn't be happening."

It was a set-up. The notes, the check stubs. They'd been written to lure Laurent out of the palace. A wild gamble, but a good one. Like a cornered animal, their uncle had become more dangerous when afraid.

Laurent realized his mistake. He took away all his uncle's options. A man without options creates new ones. A man without options is unpredictable.

"I should have told you," Laurent was trying not to cry. He felt so stupid. He hated feeling stupid.

This was a disaster. A break-out of the palace dungeons while the entire Akielon embassy was there? They looked weak. Vere looked weak in front of foreign powers, and it was Laurent's fault.

Laurent was nearly lightheaded. This was shit. This was a disaster. This was worse than anything Laurent could have imagined. The alliance would fall apart if they looked weak. Damianos would become the enemy Laurent knew him to be, no matter how soft or how gentle or how beautiful he seemed. It was Laurent's fault. If the alliance fell apart and war broke out, it would be his fault.

Guilt consumed him. He'd been selfish and stupid.

"Told me what?" Auguste was staring at him, his eyes big and full of so much love, Laurent thought he might burst.

"He didn't poison me," Laurent blurt before he could convince himself not to. If he did not say it now, he never would. Auguste deserved to know the truth. If their country fell apart, Auguste deserved to know why. He said, "I did it to myself. I wanted to give you a reason to kill him."

Auguste's face darkened, "He confessed."

"Because I told him that--" Laurent tried to get a hold of himself, but his hands were shaking and he could hardly see straight, "I told him that if he didn't, I would tell you the truth. But I should have just said the truth in the first place, I--"

"Laurent," Auguste was holding him by the shoulders, "What are you talking about?"

A lump formed in Laurent's throat that he couldn't quite swallow down. He choked out, "He raped me."

All went still for a few seconds.

It was like Laurent's worst fear was coming true. Auguste was staring at him, completely blank.

_He doesn't believe me._

Laurent blurt, "It's true. I was thirteen, and you were in Marlas negotiating the treaty. I didn't know what was happening, and I couldn't stop it. I tried. I would have, but I couldn't. He said you would never believe me if I told you, so I didn't. And I have _hated_ him ever since. I have wanted him dead every single day, and I couldn't take it anymore. I know you don't believe me, but it's the _truth_. It--"

"I believe you," Auguste interrupted.

When Laurent's vision cleared, he got a good look at his brother's face, and he realized it was not indifference at all. It was anger. So much anger, it froze all of Auguste's features and left only the fire in his eyes. So much anger, Auguste's hands shook when he went to run his fingers through Laurent's hair.

"I'm going to kill him," Auguste said, and his voice was more dangerous than Laurent had ever heard it, "and I am going to give you his head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading <3


	10. the pride

Fifteen scouts were sent out, all in different directions, to search for the Lord of Arles.

Auguste addressed the court and the Akielon embassy over lunch. He wore his crown and his sword, and he held his head high. He looked more like a king than Laurent had ever seen him, and Laurent had never seen him as anything less than a king, even when he was just a prince. 

The address was strong and well-spoken. Laurent could hear the anger in his voice, but to the untrained ear, it would sound like sheer determination. Willpower. Auguste was good at speaking. He had the crowd rallying behind him in only a few sentences. 

Laurent did not comprehend most of what was said. He stared straight ahead at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest, and thought. There was only a finite number of places his uncle could escape to. He would need personal allies, especially after word traveled to Patras and Akielos. Patras would back Auguste, and it seemed Akielos would as well. 

Auguste had charged their uncle with treason in the highest degree. Such a crime might even convince their uncle's supporters to cut their losses and let him fend for himself. 

More than once, Herode, who was sitting beside him, nudged him gently, and Laurent snapped back to attention. He lifted his eyes and regarded the crowd. 

Herode whispered, "Stay alert." 

And it was good advice, but Laurent wanted nothing more than to collapse in on himself. This had been his fault.

Across the table, Damianos was sitting between his brother and his father. He caught Laurent's eye once and gave him a swift nod of assurance. That was good, Laurent thought. Perhaps he had an ally after all. 

King Theomedes had rigidly straight posture. He held his head high and watched Auguste speak without showing much emotion. Laurent wasn't sure what to make of that.

The woman beside Prince Kastor was staring at him. Laurent did not notice for a few seconds, but she made no effort to hide it. Her sharp eyes were locked on Laurent's face, studying him carefully. Laurent looked back at her. Blond hair, light eyes. Lady Jokaste, he remembered. She flicked her eyes over him, whispered something to her husband, and then smiled at Laurent. She promptly directed her attention back to Auguste, but Kastor was now looking in Laurent's direction. 

Laurent looked back at the floor. This was entirely too much for him to handle all at the same time. 

Only Auguste knew his secret, of course, but now that he had said it out loud, it felt as if everyone in the world had heard it. 

When lunch was over, Laurent got up quickly and left without a word. He hadn't eaten much and his stomach protested, but he couldn't stand to be in that room any longer. It felt like everyone was looking at him and worse than that, it felt like everyone _saw_ him.

"Laurent!" 

Laurent suppressed a groan as he turned to face Damen. 

"Are you alright?" Damen asked when he came to a stop only a short distance in front of Laurent. Too close to be friendly, really, but Laurent did not move away.

"Fine," Laurent answered. He couldn't quite bring himself to look Damen in the eye.

"You were barely present at lunch. You look pale," Damen said. He then pressed his hand against Laurent's forehead, and logically, Laurent knew he was just checking for a fever, but that did not stop his heart from skittering. 

"I'm fine," Laurent said again, "Just a bad day." 

"I can imagine," Damen said. He pulled his hand back and said, "Do you want company?"

Instinctively, Laurent began to say no, but he cut himself off. He looked at Damen: his impossibly soft eyes, his bouncy curls, his height, and his gentle hands, despite the sword callouses on his palms and fingers. Laurent's mouth was dry. He nodded.

"Yes." 

It was a difficult thing to admit. It made Laurent's gut twist. He felt too vulnerable, like he'd handed Damen a knife and expected him not to wield it. It felt like laying himself bare. A part of him hated it. Another part thought it might be worth it, if Damen stuck around for just a moment more. 

Damen said, "I'll stay." 

Then he outstretched his hand, and Laurent took it. That too was difficult. 

Laurent led the way to the Counsel Records, where he pulled out all his files and dropped them heavily onto the table. Damen took a seat in one of the chairs and watched wordlessly as Laurent found an inkwell and some parchment. He glanced at Damen and elected to write in Patran. He was reasonably sure the majority of Akielons would be unable to read it, as well as a good amount of Veretians. It was the safest option.

"I thought maybe you would want to talk about it," Damen said a few minutes later.

Laurent barely looked up at him, "I have work to do." 

"You should take a moment to process it."

"I processed it when it happened," Laurent argued.

"The scouts will find him," Damen said, and Laurent just shook his head. 

Laurent had little faith in other people. For all he knew, maybe they were working for his uncle, too. 

Damen was silent for a moment longer, then asked, "Where did you go last night?" 

"Where did I--?" Laurent looked up sharply. His eyes darted over Damen's face before he asked, "What are you talking about?" 

"I saw you," Damen said with a small nod, "You were sneaking past the dining hall. I had excused myself for a moment, and I saw you pass. You were dressed funny and you looked to be in a hurry, so I didn't stop you." 

"It's none of your concern."

Laurent went back to reading his uncle's files for a second, but his mind drifted to the implications of Damen's question. There was something unspoken about his words, for sure. Damen was suspicious, and he was not good at hiding it. 

Laurent asked, "Where do you think I went?" 

"I don't know," Damen shrugged, "It was late, and you were being secretive. I just thought I'd ask."

Laurent narrowed his eyes, "I didn't have anything to do with my uncle's escape. If that's what you're asking."

"It isn't." 

"Well," Laurent's temper was flaring again, and he was in too much of a bad mood to bother checking himself, "It sounds like you're implying I did something last night, so I am only defending myself. You have a lot of nerve, accusing me of betraying my country. Betraying my _brother_. I know you probably don't think highly of Veretians, but we do have a little honor."

"Laurent," Damen chided, and that made Laurent even angrier.

"Honestly," Laurent snapped, "you think I would do anything to hurt Auguste? To embarrass him in front of your father? You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know what my world looks like, and for you to accuse me of something like that, you--" 

"I was not," Damen said a bit more firmly, "It never crossed my mind."

"Then what?" 

"I thought maybe you were visiting a secret lover," Damen replied with an arched brow.

Laurent's whole body went still. He stared at Damen.

"Oh." 

"Oh?" Damen asked, "Was I right?"

"No, I don't... No," Laurent propped his head up on his hand. It suddenly felt very heavy. He said, "I visited an old friend. We got into a bit of... an argument. He's a bitch." 

"Ah," Damen nodded, "Just a friend, though?" 

"Barely even that." 

Damen said a bit more cautiously, "Because you don't like men, or because he's a bitch?"

Laurent felt his cheeks flush and averted his eyes.

"Sorry," Damen said, "You don't have to answer that." 

Laurent did not, for a while.

"You're distracting me on purpose," Laurent accused.

"Maybe," Damen smiled, "but you look like you could use a break. You are still recovering." 

"I'm fine," Laurent argued. He turned his eyes back to the files and did not say anything for some time. Damen respected this, and just sat quietly. Laurent could have sworn he felt Damen's eyes tracing slowly over his face, but he did not look up to verify this theory. 

"What are you looking for?" Damen asked. He moved his chair to sit a bit closer to Laurent, but did not yet make a move to peer over his shoulder. 

"I don't know. Any sort of lead as to where he might have gone," Laurent said, "He has allies all over the kingdom, but he won't go just anywhere. He needs someone who won't turn on him when word gets out about what he did." 

Damen leaned a little closer, "Maybe I can help." 

"No," Laurent's voice was clipped. The fact that he was even allowing Damen in the same room as him while searching these files was an enormous exercise of trust. One he would regret immensely if Damen proved to be an enemy. Laurent would not be able to forgive himself if he messed things up even more. 

"These are a lot of documents," Damen argued, "You would need to stay up all night to read them all yourself." 

"I know," Laurent replied. 

Damen was silent for a long moment, and Laurent returned to the document he was reading. A letter between his uncle and a lesser lord in Marlas. Only after Laurent got through another paragraph did Damen say, "You don't have to do this alone."

Laurent tried not to let the interrupting halt his progress, but he found himself looking up to meet Damen's eyes. He said, "I can handle myself." 

"I know," Damen said. He was sitting very close all of a sudden. Close enough that he could read the documents, too, if he wanted, though he made no move to look down at them. He seemed, for the time being, to be respecting Laurent's wishes. Damen continued, "I know you're smart enough to handle this alone. I'm just saying you don't need to." 

"You don't..." Laurent shook his head, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm offering to help ease your burden," Damen said, "I promise, I won't do anything you don't want. If you don't want me reading certain things or looking at your work, I can respect it. I just want to help you." 

"I can manage," Laurent argued. It was a daunting task, yes, but of course he could do it. He had been preparing for this his entire life, in some way. He'd always been working alone.

Damen looked at him for a long while, then finally said, "Okay." He then dragged his chair to its original position, far enough from the papers that he wouldn't be able to read them but close enough to keep company. 

Laurent went back to his work.

The next time Damen spoke, it was to let him know dinner would be starting soon. Laurent just shrugged. 

Damen got up, and Laurent figured that was that. A part of him felt bad for pushing Damen away, but he did not focus on it for too long. He pushed most people away, Damen would be no exception. 

But Damen came back an hour or so later with a plate of food and a glass of water. He set it in front of Laurent wordlessly, then went back to his chair, where he took a book from under his cloak and began to read.

"Didn't know you could do that." Laurent's throat was scratchy, and he took a sip from the glass of water Damen had brought him.

"Do what?" 

"Read." 

Damen laughed, and Laurent felt himself crack a smile. 

Damen said, "Well, I thought I should bring something to entertain myself while you work." 

Through the doors, Laurent could hear music striking up. The night would continued festivities, despite the events of the morning. Laurent said, "You don't have to stay with me if you would rather be out there." 

"I'll stay as long as you will allow me," Damen replied.

Laurent shifted in his seat. He had inkstains on his fingers and his neck hurt from being craned for so long. There was still so much to be done. He'd been working through his list of his uncle's companions, but none of them seemed promising yet and there was still so much to go. 

Some time later, Laurent could not be sure when, he felt hands on his shoulders and along his back. He jolted a bit and found his vision to be hazy. His thoughts came to him slowly, and his surroundings confused him for the first few seconds before he remembered where he was.

His first thought was that he had been drugged. The glass of water Damen had given him was now empty, and Laurent only half-remembered drinking it. That could account for the heavy feeling of his eyelids. 

The weight remained on Laurent's shoulders even as he watched Damen return quietly to his seat. When Laurent brought his hands to his shoulders, they were met with soft fabric. A blanket.

"Did I fall asleep?" Laurent asked, and immediately the sound of his voice gave away the answer. 

"Yes," Damen said with a little smile, "Sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. I thought you could use the rest." 

"No," Laurent pinched his own arm, "No, I should keep working." 

"It is late," Damen said softly, "So late, it may be more accurate to call it early."

Laurent rubbed his eyes. The warmth of the blanket was very inviting, and the candles were burning low enough that the room was filled with a dull orange haze. Sleep did sound nice. 

When Laurent was younger, he could stay up for two days at a time without trouble, and though he was still a young man, he was certainly no longer a child. He did not have as much energy as he used to, and it was taking a toll.

"I am going to bed," Damen said, "Perhaps you ought to come." 

Laurent looked up sharply. 

"I did not mean it like that," Damen's eyes widened, and he shook his head, "No, I would not be so presumptuous. I mean no offense, of course, I just mean that I would not be so bold as to ask at such a delicate time. I mean, you are really in no state to be... Never mind. You ought to go to your own bed. Alone." 

Laurent drew the blanket around himself like a cloak, "I still have too much to do." 

"It will still be here in the morning," Damen moved to be closer to him. Laurent turned his head, and their noses nearly touched. Laurent did not dare to breathe. 

"I can sleep when I'm done, then," Laurent argued, though with less conviction now that he was staring into Damen's eyes. He could not seem to think of anything else for a moment.

"And what do you plan to do when you're done?" Damen asked, "I imagine that will require you to be awake, too." 

Laurent set his jaw.

Reluctantly, he nodded. He would need his energy when he put a knife through his uncle's heart. 

Damen smiled brightly, and Laurent thought privately that if he had known this decision would make Damen smile, he would have made it several minutes ago. 

"I'll get up early tomorrow," Laurent said, and Damen nodded.

"I'll join you." 

"You don't-- "

"I want to," Damen said, still smiling.

Laurent stared at him, "I can't imagine I'm good company right now." 

Damen simply said, "Oh, be nicer to yourself. I like your company just fine." Then he stood and extended his arm to Laurent, who brushed the blanket from his shoulders, folded it neatly, then took Damen's arm. 

When they were in the hall, nearly to his chambers, Laurent said, "He's a bitch." 

"What?" 

"My friend," Laurent tried not to look at Damen, but slipped up and cast a quick glance, "We're just friends because he's a bitch, not because he's a man." 

Damen smiled. 

They stopped outside Laurent's door. Laurent brought his eyes up to Damen's face and thought very sternly to himself, _Do not even think about it._ Then he promptly ignored his own advice and thought about kissing Damen for several moments, until Damen finally said, "I'll see you tomorrow, then." 

And Laurent just said, "Okay." 

Damen left, and Laurent lingered for a moment, watching him go, before slipping inside his room to go to sleep. 

\+ 

There was no word from the scouts in the morning. 

"Be patient," Auguste told him over breakfast, though the bags under his eyes suggested that he had not slept much either, "We'll find him. I swear it." 

Laurent had dropped the subject. He could see how much stress and anger it was causing his brother, and he felt bad enough already for bringing this upon them. The room was full of noise. The Akielons were loud people, Laurent was learning, but he used the conversation as an excuse to not speak. Every time Auguste looked over at him and seemed ready to say something, Laurent pretended to be very interested in the conversation across the table. 

When Laurent was a child, he thought his brother was endlessly gentle. As he got older, he realized Auguste was just gentle towards him. He remembered his shock the first time he'd seen Auguste fight-- how strong and deadly he was, even just with a practice sword. Auguste would kill their uncle. That's why Laurent had to get there first.

Auguste nudged him, "Are you okay? You haven't eaten." 

"Yes, I have," Laurent argued, "and I'm fine." 

"If you want to talk about--" 

"I don't," Laurent said sharply, and Auguste withdrew. 

Auguste looked at him different now that he knew, Laurent had noticed. Auguste looked at him like he were a fragile little bird. 

Laurent moved his food around with his fork and stared up ahead. It took him several moments to realize someone was waving at him and another second to realize it was Damen. Laurent forced a small smile.

Between Damen and his half-brother was Lady Jokaste, who followed Damen's gaze to Laurent and stifled a laugh. 

"It's just..." Auguste's voice snapped Laurent out of his thoughts, "If you need to talk about it with someone, I'm here. You know that right?"

Laurent nodded, "Yeah, I know." 

"You didn't," Auguste said, a little more sharp this time, "Talk to me about it, I mean."

Laurent glanced about the table, but no one seemed to be paying them much mind. He just said, "And now I have talked to you about, so there." 

"Before, I meant." 

"I know what you meant," Laurent tried not to be annoyed, but was failing.

"I feel guilty," Auguste admitted. 

Laurent stared at him as he asked, "Why?"

"I could have..." Auguste shook his head, "I could have done something." 

The counselor on the other side of Auguste shifted just marginally closer, but it was enough to set Laurent's nerves on edge. He said quickly, "I don't want to talk about this now. Not here." 

"Right," Auguste sighed, "Right, I know. Later, then." 

"I don't want to talk about it later, either," Laurent snapped. He sighed heavily and set his fork down a bit louder than intended. He tried to play it off casually, but it felt stupid.

"We should," Auguste said.

"I don't want to do that." 

"Laurent--"

"Would you just drop it?" Laurent said a bit too aggressively. He shrank into his seat and ducked his head when two nobles looked over at him.

Auguste frowned, but didn't press.

As soon as it was acceptable, Laurent got up. He made it halfway to the door before Damen noticed and stood to follow. He intercepted Laurent quickly, and Laurent felt his cheeks begin to burn as the entire dining room watched them leave together.

"How are you this morning?" 

Laurent shrugged, "I'm alright. And you?" 

"Doing very well," Damen said with a bright smile. He nudged Laurent lightly, but it still made Laurent stagger to the side a step. Damen said, "You look... ah, rested." 

Laurent didn't say anything to that. He was already thinking ahead to what he would need to do when he got to the records chamber. He'd gotten through a good portion of his list the night before, but there were still too many possibilities. It would take too long. What he needed was a way to narrow down the options.

"-ent, are you listening?" 

Laurent glanced up at Damen, who was watching him with careful eyes. Laurent said, "What?"

"I had a feeling not." 

"I was thinking," Laurent snapped, "Have you never done that before?"

Damen chuckled, seemingly undeterred by Laurent's abrasiveness. That was strange. Laurent had never met anyone who did not dislike his temper. Even Auguste used to lecture him about managing his anger when he was a child, but Laurent could not help it. He had so much anger inside him, he sometimes thought he might burst. He released it wherever he could, usually on bystanders like Damen.

"I was reminding you that my party and I will be leaving in a few days," Damen said lightly.

Laurent nodded. He could barely remember what day it was. The Akielon embassy felt so unimportant compared to everything else, he had not allowed them to take up much room in his head. 

"Oh," Was all Laurent said.

"I think it would be good if we discussed a few things," Damen said.

"About you leaving?" Laurent shook his head, "I hardly see what you mean." 

"I was wondering if you would like to leave with me," Damen said, and when Laurent balked at the idea, he quickly clarified, "It might be safer for you to be away while your uncle's whereabouts are unknown. If he does decide to retaliate against you, you should be far away from here." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Laurent said quickly, "I can't just leave. I have work to do. I have a job, I have responsibilities. I have to--" 

"Your position on the Counsel would not be jeopardized," Damen said, "It would only be for a little while." 

"No," Laurent shook his head quickly. He had more than just his position on the Counsel to worry about. His uncle's escape was his fault, and besides, Laurent needed to find him before Auguste did. 

"At least think about it." 

"I won't waste my time thinking about something so idiotic," Laurent snapped , perhaps too cruel for someone as gentle as Damen, but in that moment, Laurent did not care. He continued, "I would be useless in Akielos."

Damen said, "I doubt you have ever been useless." 

"Well, I am not looking to start. I am worth something here, I would not be in Akielos." 

"Usefulness and worth are not the same," Damen argued, "You are worth a great deal."

Laurent scoffed, "To whom? What Akielon would find worth in me?" 

Damen looked like he was about to say something, but Laurent did not want to hear it.

"I will stay here with my brother and with my people," Laurent said firmly, "I do not want to talk about this again."

Laurent tried to turn his mind back to the more important things. He needed a way to find his uncle faster than searching through all his records. Perhaps if he could track down Aimeric...

"--just trying to keep you safe," Damen was still arguing, and Laurent thought he could scream he was becoming so frustrated.

"I don't want to go with you, and you can't change my mind," He snapped, "Stop asking." 

Damen frowned. For a moment, Laurent thought he was going to argue, then he said, "As you wish." 

The silence between them was uncomfortable. Laurent reminded himself not to feel guilty for this, too. It was Damen who started it, after all. Laurent felt guilty anyway.

Laurent turned his mind to the problem at hand. He needed a lead. 

When they slipped into the records chamber, Laurent hesitated in front of his documents. He looked up at Damen and said, "Maybe you can read this one for me. It's in Akielon, so you might be better for it than me." 

Damen smiled as he took the document from Laurent's hand, and Laurent could not help but stare. 

"Thank you," Damen said softly, "I know this is a big deal."

"Yeah, but," Laurent took a deep breath and said after a pause, "I trust you. Just tell me if it mentions any sort of location. Or a person he seems friendly with. Or anything strange, really." 

Damen nodded and sat down. He set the paper in front of him and began to read, and Laurent stared at the line of concentration that formed between his brows. He forced himself to go back to his own work.

They read in silence for several minutes, and when Damen finished with the first document, Laurent passed him another. He did not miss how it made Damen smile, but he pretended to.

Laurent was not sure how much time passed before Damen spoke again.

"This one seems to be a, uh, _personal_ letter," Damen slid it across the table to Laurent. 

Laurent glanced it over, "I remember that one. About meeting up with a partner, right? A dead end, there's no name or address for the partner. I can't make sense of it." 

"Partner," Damen shook his head, "That's not the word I would use."

Laurent said the word in Akielon. 

"Like a close friend, no?" 

"No," Damen said with a little frown, "I mean, technically, that's what it literally means, but it's a bit of a slang term. It means a sexual partner." 

Laurent straightened, "Are you sure?" 

"It's only my native language," Damen replied with a little smile. 

Laurent skimmed over the page, then looked back at Damen, "How do you know the writer intended for it to be meant that way? If a Veretian were writing, they might use the direct translation."

"No, this is written too fluently to be the writer's second language," Damen said with a shake of his head, "They use an Akielon idiom here, and it is not a common one."

Laurent looked to where Damen's finger was and read, "Pride survives."

"It is a fragment of an expression," Damen explained, "A lion alone cannot last the winter, but the pride survives." 

Laurent met Damen's eyes. His mind was racing with possibilities, but they all brought him back to the same conclusion. He quickly said, "Thank you." 

Then he got up and began to hurry for the door when Damen called, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fantastic," Laurent said, nearly lightheaded with the revelation. In a moment of blind excitement, he bent over and kissed Damen on the cheek. It was very stupid, he thought as soon as he had done it. It was the sort of thing that would have been cute if a child had done it, but in this situation, it was far too intimate. 

Blushing, Laurent darted out the door. 

His feet carried him to the servant's wing, where he hurried from door to door until stumbling across Nicaise playing with the other children. 

"Might I borrow you for a second?" He asked, and Nicaise made a show of rolling his eyes before excusing himself to follow Laurent into the hall. 

"What?" 

"In town, did the Lord of Arles ever take you anywhere? A house, a building, a shed, anything?" 

Nicaise narrowed his eyes, "Why?" 

"Because," Laurent huffed, "I need to know." 

"So you can kill him?" 

Laurent paused. Nicaise had the sharpest eyes Laurent had ever seen, like icicles sharpened into fine points. 

"Yeah," Laurent said, "so I can kill him."

Nicaise studied his face with more seriousity than a child should be able to manage, then finally said, "There was one place. I dunno the address." 

"Okay," Laurent nodded quickly, barely containing his jitters, "Just tell me the area." 

"It was near a tavern. Close to the clocktower. I think there was a park nearby, and the lady next door had a loud dog," Nicaise recounted.

"It was an apartment?" 

"Yeah, above a shop," Nicaise said with an affirmative nod, "A tailor, I think. No, wait. That's not it. A watch repair shop, or something like that." 

"Okay," Laurent racked his brain to try to visualize where the shop would be. Near the clocktower, near a tavern, near a park. That gave him a general idea, but it would take some time. He might do well to leave earlier than usual.

"That it?" Nicaise arched an annoyed eyebrow.

"That's it." 

"Okay," Nicaise said with a little shrug, then he returned to the other children.

+

It took Laurent a little over an hour to find the shop. Town was large, and the buildings were tightly packed together. 

It was a clock repair shop, which was close enough to what Nicaise had said. At first, Laurent had not been certain if he was in the right place, then he heard the barking from the next apartment over.

He drew a knife and held it readied as he moved to the side door. It was locked, but the window was just open enough for Laurent to slide his fingers underneath and push it open the rest of the way. He slipped inside as gracefully as he could, not wanting to attract any attention to himself. 

Immediately he moved to the staircase, which he crept up slowly. He poised his knife for a throw. 

There was no one there. If anything, Laurent was disappointed. The upstairs was mostly empty. There was a bed and a small table, but nothing else. Laurent had been hoping to at least find Aimeric, but evidently, no one had been here in some time. There was a fine layer of dust on every surface. 

After an hour of searching every inch of the apartment, Laurent came to the conclusion that there was simply nothing there, and he had wasted time with a dead end. 

It was only after he stopped looking that he stumbled over a loose floorboard. He crouched beside it and wedged his knife in the gap between the boards to leverage it up. In the space under the board there was a pin.

Laurent turned the pin over between his fingers. Akielon made. Gold molded to depict a lion's head. The letters stamped along the rim were Akielon characters reading, "The pride survives." 

It was the sigil of the royal family. Laurent had seen a similar pin on Damianos' cloak. Perhaps earlier in the week, he would have taken this as confirmation that Damen was working against him, but now he took a moment to pause and think about it. Damen would not have prodded him in this direction if he knew what was here. A pin like this would be easy enough for a servant to swipe. It could mean a number of things.

Laurent slipped the pin into his pocket, replaced the board, and went home.

There were too many nobles still wandering about the palace when Laurent got back, so he slipped in through the servant's door and kept to the servant's halls. He climbed the stairs to the hall just above his bedroom, slipped out the window, and carefully climbed down to his balcony. It was shockingly easy, even though his hand slipped on the descent so he landed harder than he had intended. 

He took a deep breath. The fatigue of the day was catching up with him. His shoulders slumped and he walked in slow, languid steps to reenter his chambers.

One sharp tug undid the knot in his cloak and sent it to the ground. Laurent resigned to picking it up in the morning. 

A creak made him turn sharply and draw one of the throwing knives strapped to his thigh. He tensed when he saw a figure sitting at his desk. 

The figure brought the candle closer to his face, and Laurent's heart dropped. 

"Laurent," Auguste's voice was tight and tense, "what are you wearing?"

Laurent would have rather come home to an assassin in his room. 

"It's nothing," Laurent said quickly.

"It does not look like nothing," Auguste replied, and this time, Laurent heard anger in his voice. 

Laurent wished he hadn't taken off his cloak so soon. He would have wrapped it aroung himself to hide the knives at his waist and his leg. It would not have stopped this conversation, but it might have made him feel better about it.

"You look like an assassin," Auguste stood and walked over to him, and Laurent crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Auguste said, "Where were you? I thought you would be with Damianos or that child you brought here. I did _not_ think you would sneak in from a window."

"It's not a big deal," Laurent said, "I didn't do anything wrong." 

"Where were you going, dressed like that?" 

"Town," Laurent answered. He felt like a child again when Auguste scolded him like this, and he hated it. So he snapped, "It doesn't concern you, anyway. I am an adult." 

"And I am your king," Auguste's voice was low and fiercely angry, "Tell me what you were doing." 

Laurent did not answer for some time, and realization dawned on Auguste's face.

"You were going after Uncle." 

Laurent did not deny it. He just said, "It is not your concern." 

"It is my concern if you are going out and putting yourself in mortal danger," Auguste snapped, "What were you hoping to achieve? Did you think you would find him in some tavern? Did you think you would be able to just kill him and come back like nothing had happened?" 

"I _will_ kill him," Laurent replied icily, "whether you approve of it or not." 

Auguste set his jaw. For a moment, Laurent thought it was over. Surely Auguste of all people could understand where Laurent was coming from. Auguste had killed before. Auguste was known for his incredible swordsmanship. He was not just a killer, but a respected one. Surely Auguste understood bloodlust.

"We will talk about this in the morning," Was all Auguste said.

Laurent knit his brow, "What do you mean?" 

"If you think I am going to let you endanger yourself to satisfy your quest for revenge," Auguste's voice was nearly shaking, "you are mistaken." 

Laurent could only stare.

"I will be back tomorrow with a decision on what to do with you," Auguste said, "Until then, you will be under guard." 

Anger flared, and Laurent began to shout, "You can't--" 

"I can," Auguste matched his tone. 

There was a beat of silence, then Auguste said only a fraction more calmly, "I am not going to lose you to an anger-driven revenge quest. I _cannot_ lose you."

"You will not," Laurent all but snarled, "because I will win." 

"You underestimate our uncle." 

" _You_ underestimated our uncle," Laurent was hardly aware of just how much venom he was pouring into his words, "and you underestimate _me_." 

Auguste stared. There was a long, tense silence. Neither relented.

"Be that as it may," Auguste said, "I am not one to make the same mistake twice. I will see you again in the morning when I have gathered my thoughts and reached a conclusion. Jord and Lazar will be sent to stand guard inside your chambers." 

Laurent shouted arguments and profanities, but Auguste left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while to get out! Hope you enjoyed!


	11. Chapter 11

Not a second after Laurent finished changing out of his common clothes, Jord and Lazar entered the room and took position on either side of the door. Laurent could hardly suppress his groan.

The morning passed slowly. Laurent could not go to sleep, not with Jord and Lazar watching him, and he could hardly keep his mind occupied. He began reading but found himself staring blankly at the pages, not processing a word. He sharpened his knives, but that did not take as long as he thought it would. He tried to goad Jord into a game of chess, but Jord met him with a condescending look and a shake of his head.

So Laurent spent the majority of the morning laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. His thoughts swirled, and he could hardly stay concentrated even in his own head. 

He'd been making too many mistakes recently. Botching that night was not the worst of them. He'd been rash. Too angry, too violent. What he needed was to refocus. He'd lost this chance to kill his uncle, but there would be more, and if there were not more, he would make more. 

To release some of his energy, he practiced throwing. Each one of his blades stuck two inches deep into the target, all packed into the small inner circle. When he was out, he got up and pulled them all out of the target, then started again.

Auguste did not come back until well after Laurent's breakfast had been delivered. He dismissed the guards with a sharp nod and a quick, "Give us the room." 

Laurent sat up straight on his bed and waited silently as Jord and Lazar bowed and made their exit. Auguste turned back to face Laurent, still looking every bit as angry has he had earlier. He glanced at the breakfast tray and said, "You didn't eat."

"Can you just get to the point?" Laurent replied, and Auguste heaved a sigh. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"You must understand why I'm upset," Auguste said.

Laurent shrugged, "Yes. But--" 

"No, don't do that," Auguste moved a few steps closer to where Laurent sat as he said, "This is not an argument, and I am not going to listen to whatever excuse you have. You put yourself in danger." 

"Well, if you'd let me explain _why_ I did it, maybe--"

"Laurent!" Auguste threw his hands up, "You are being ridiculous! You could have died; there's no reason you can give me that will make me be alright with that. You don't know town well. You don't have any experience in a real fight. You could have _died_. I am not going to let that happen." 

Laurent set his jaw. There was a crossroads now-- if he told Auguste that he _did_ have experience fighting, that would certainly not help Auguste calm down, but it may help in the future if Laurent went after their uncle again. When. When he went after their uncle again. Maybe if Auguste knew Laurent could hold his own, some part of his anxiety would be relieved. 

Before Laurent could make up his mind, Auguste changed the subject, "I spoke with Prince Damianos." 

Laurent shook his head, "I cannot imagine what _he_ has to do with anything." 

"He explained that he offered you a space in his palace, and you rejected it."Auguste replied with a quirk of his eyebrow, and Laurent muttered a curse word under his breath. 

"Of course I rejected it," Laurent said through gritted teeth. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he hated it. He said, "My place is here, in Vere. With you and with my job."

"Your place is where you are safe," Auguste replied, "If Damianos' offer keeps you from harm, you will accept it. Do I make myself clear?" 

Laurent set his jaw. This was some sort of power play, and Laurent did not appreciate it. He muttered, "You're trying to punish me." 

"Yes," Auguste said sharply.

"I knew what I was doing," Laurent argued, though he was losing his energy with every passing second, "I would not have died." 

"You could have," Auguste looked tired himself, "And what would I have done? If you had gone and gotten yourself killed in the middle of the night? If you just disappeared and never came back, what would I have done?"

Laurent tried not to hear the sadness and panic in Auguste's voice. He just grumbled, "I would not have died." 

"Laurent," Auguste sounded exhausted, "If something had happened to you, I would never forgive myself." 

"It would not be your fault." 

"It doesn't matter," Auguste took Laurent by the shoulders and said, "You are very important to me. I need you to be important to yourself, too. Your life is not something to be gambled." 

"It is my life, it is not up to you what I do with it," At this point, some part of Laurent was just arguing for the sake of argument, and he knew it, but he did nothing to stop it. He was not angry at Auguste, not really, but he would take out his anger wherever he could.

"What if you had found him?" Auguste snapped, "What if you had fallen into a trap, and he had taken you as a captive? He a cruel man, and he is angry with you. What do you think he would have done to you?" 

Laurent let himself think about it. Their uncle was not the gentle type, and he would have been more than just angry. Laurent imagined he would not have escaped his uncle's grasp easily, nor unharmed. Laurent did not know much about torture. It was not something he had ever taken the time to study-- he'd seen no need for it. His uncle would know about it, though.

But instead of admitting to this, Laurent said with all the venom he could muster, "He can do nothing worse than what he's already done to me." 

Auguste did not flinch at the angry words. He simply froze. Nothing in his face betrayed how he was feeling. This made Laurent angry, too.

"Next time you decide to patronize me about how cruel our uncle is," Laurent said, regretting the meanness of his words as he spoke them but speaking them nonetheless, "remember which of us was on the receiving end of his cruelty."

Auguste was silent for a long moment. He took a deep breath in through his nose and released it a short sigh from his mouth. He said gently, like he were talking to a little child, "You're right, and I'm sorry. I wish more than anything in the world that I had done more for you. I wish I could have spared you of what happened."

Laurent could hardly stand to look his brother in the eyes for this, so he looked down. 

Auguste continued, "But that does not excuse your reckless behavior last night."

Laurent scoffed.

"You will leave with Prince Damianos tomorrow morning, if he will have you," Auguste was speaking like a king, not a brother, "and I will not hear any more argument. Know that this is for your own good. I am only trying to protect you." 

Laurent snorted a laugh. 

Sometimes he thought Auguste made it too easy for people to be cruel to him. Laurent knew his next words would be horribly cruel.

"You have never been much good at protecting me; I don't see why you're so determined to start now." 

Auguste closed his eyes and said a slow warning of, "Laurent. Don't." 

Laurent pressed, "You have never been there to protect me, not ever."

"I didn't know," Auguste shook his head, "If I had known, I would have killed him where he stood." 

"That's not fair," Laurent argued, even though he knew it was a childish argument. Nothing was ever fair, and Laurent knew that. Still, he argued, "I don't want you to kill him, I want to do it myself. I think I deserve that." 

"It would be better to have a proper execution," Auguste said, taking the silence as a sign of defeat, "Believe me, Laurent, you do not want to be a killer."

Laurent carefully considered his next words. If he wanted to convince Auguste of his ability to fight and kill, he was going to have to sacrifice some secrets. He'd kept this one for a long while, and for that time, it had been beneficial for it to remain a secret. But the circumstances had changed. It was time to play his cards.

So, Laurent took a breath and said, "I should tell you about Jacques Bassett. And Louis d'Argent. Maybe you've already heard of Simon Lestrage or Antone Barque? Any of them?"

Auguste shook his head and said, "Just tell me. I'm not in the mood for guessing games." 

"They were assassins Uncle sent after you. I saw the check stubs, saw the paperwork, the correspondence. He hired them to kill you," Laurent trailed off for a moment as he recounted the memories, then he looked up and said, "You've never heard of them because I got to them before they got to you." 

Auguste knit his brow. Emotions flashed across his face in quick succession. There was confusion, then shock, then anger again. Laurent had been expecting that, so he wasn't shocked. 

"I can beat Uncle," Laurent said, "I won't even be hard, if I could just fucking find him." 

Auguste sank into Laurent's desk chair and set his head in his hands. He muttered, "Give me a moment. You cannot throw this at me and not give me any time to process it." 

Laurent huffed, and after a few seconds of silence, he said, "I am just trying to make my point. I know you are trying to do the best thing you can, but I do not need your help . I can take care of myself. I want to do this." 

"I will not give you my blessing, if that is what you're asking," Auguste replied without lifting his head from his hands.

"No. I don't need it," Laurent replied flippantly, "I just want you to back off." 

This made Auguste lift his head, "Pardon?" 

"I can handle myself in a fight," Laurent said, trying not to lose his patience, "so let me fight." 

"Are you..?" Auguste broke off with a little laugh, shook his head, then began again, "Are you insane? You think this changes anything about how I feel about you putting yourself in danger? You think I'll just leave you alone to get yourself captured or tortured or killed?" 

"I can beat him." 

"Maybe you can," Auguste snapped, "but maybe not." 

"So what, then? _You_ can?" Laurent snapped.

Auguste stood again, "This is over." 

"I'm not finished!"

"Yes," Auguste half-shouted, "you are. Killing will not make you feel better. Killing will not change what happened."

"I know," Laurent said, because it was the truth, "I want to do it anyway." 

Auguste took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly released it. When he finished, he said one clear, precise syllable, "Why?" 

"What do you--" Laurent shook his head, "You must be joking."

"What are you hoping it will do?" Auguste asked, seemingly regaining his composure in the past few minutes, "Because if you just want him to die, then it will not matter who wields the blade. If you wanted to hurt him, surely forcing him into exile was enough. So what do you want, Laurent?"

"I want..." Laurent frowned, "I want to win."

"And watching him kneel before the executioner's block won't do that? Seeing his head on a pike won't do that?" 

"No," Laurent huffed. He shook his head and said, "I don't know. I want... I want to..."

Laurent could not quite put it into words, but he just wanted it to be over. The anger, the bitterness, the anxiety, the fear. He wanted all the bad parts of himself to be gone. He thought maybe they would leave the moment he stuck a knife into his uncle's heart.

Auguste's face softened just a bit as he watched Laurent struggle to articulate. It was not often Laurent was without words. 

What did he want? Happiness? That seemed a bit ambitious. 

"I want..." Laurent exhaled sharply, "I guess I just want some peace."

Auguste stared.

"I just want to go to sleep," Laurent said, drawing his arms around himself, "without dreaming of... of that." 

Auguste looked like he wanted to say something, but Laurent continued, "I want to defend myself, even if it's too late. I want to watch the life leave his eyes, and I want him to know that he's dying because of me. Because of what he did to me."

Laurent blinked and slowly raised his gaze back to his brother.

Auguste crouched down in front of where Laurent was sitting so they were at eye level. He put a hand on Laurent's shoulder and said, "Revenge will not give you those things. You are so, so smart. You must know that I'm right. Killing him isn't going to make anything better." 

"I know. I want to do it anyway," Laurent muttered. His eyes felt glassy, and he found himself desperately wishing for Auguste to leave.

Auguste nodded. He said slowly, "I understand. Really, Lo, I do." Then a few moments later, he said, "But I will not see you in danger. If it takes sending you to Akielos to keep you out of harm's way, then that is what I intend to do."

Laurent nodded quietly.

This was not an argument he would win. It would not be worth anything to continue fighting with his brother. He would just have to be more secretive the next time he tried to kill his uncle.

Auguste reached forward and took Laurent into a gentle hug. 

It surprised Laurent at first, but he quickly relaxed into the touch. 

When he pulled away, Auguste said, "Find Damianos after supper and speak to him about the matter."

Laurent nodded again.

+

Laurent was quiet throughout the majority of dinner. He sat beside his brother and picked at his food when Auguste prodded him to eat more. He felt nauseous every time he looked up and saw Damen trying to catch his eyes and waving.

The evening crawled. By the time the courtiers stood to begin mingling during the dessert course, Laurent felt as if he had been there for hours.

He got up a few moments later, not wanting to seem overeager, and made his way over to where Damen was chatting with a fellow Akielon.

"Hello, your Highness," Laurent said, and Damen turned around, already smiling just at the sound of Laurent's voice. It seemed he was always smiling. He excused himself from his friend, to the friend's barely-concealed annoyance, and stepped off to the side with Laurent.

"My lord, it is good to see you," Damen said brightly, though when he set his wine glass and took a better look at Laurent, his smile slipped just a bit. He asked, "Is something wrong?"

"I wanted to ask you about your offer from yesterday," Laurent said, trying not to let himself feel too embarrassed. It was such a large thing to ask of him, it did not seem fair. Laurent had felt like a burden to his brother as a child, and he did not enjoy the feeling any more as an adult.

Damen looked surprised. He leaned forward a bit, which only made Laurent more aware of how close they were standing. He asked, "You have changed your mind?"

"I just..." Laurent glanced about. The crowd felt so close, like they were suffocating him. Laurent said, "I just want to know if the offer is still on the table. To stay in Akielos with you, I mean." 

"Of course. You are more than welcome to stay with me, always," Damen said quickly, and he nodded vehemently to punctuate his point. He touched Laurent gently on the elbow, and it took all of Laurent's self control not to flinch. He said in the gentlest possible voice, "Should we step out for a moment? To talk?" 

"I think that would be good."

Damen offered his arm, which Laurent took politely.

"For the sake of transparency," Laurent said as they stepped into the hallway, which was immediately quieter in the absence of the loud musicians and courtiers, "I should tell you that Auguste more than suggested that I go with you for a while." 

"I see."

Laurent thought Damen might sound disappointed, but he was not sure. The two of them ventured into a spare sitting room, and Laurent draped himself languidly over one of the chaises. Damen, watching him with mirth in his eyes, sat beside him.

"He's angry with me," Laurent said, a bit shy. It seemed too presumptuous to unload all his problems onto someone he had not known for very long, but Damen was looking at him with concern, so Laurent continued, "He caught me sneaking out last night. Or, sneaking back in, rather." 

Damen lifted his eyebrows, "Visiting your friend again?" 

"No," Laurent sighed and did not elaborate on that, "Auguste thinks I was endangering myself."

"Were you?" 

Laurent sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He said, "I am not a child, nor am I delicate. I was not in any danger." 

Damen smiled just softly, not enough to show his dimple, which Laurent wished did not disappoint him as much as it did. Damen said, "Well, you cannot fault him for being concerned about your safety. You're his younger brother; it's only natural he worries for you. You had no protectors if something went wrong. You're clever, but you're small." 

"I'm lean," Laurent argued.

"You're little," Damen said with a playful nudge against Laurent's shoulder.

"Compared to you, maybe," Laurent grumbled. He glanced over Damen, then said, "You think I can't fight?" 

"I didn't say that," But Damen's chuckle gave him away.

Laurent sat up straight, "You think you could beat me?" 

"Laurent, come on," Damen gave a very un-princely snort of a laugh.

Arching a brow, Laurent began to smile. He said, "I challenge you to a duel, then." 

Damen's smile only grew, "Oh, really? You want to fight me?" 

"No, I want to beat you. Come on up. Let's go fight." 

"Now?" Damen glanced over his shoulder to the windows, "It's dark outside. Surely this can wait until morning." 

"Afraid?" Laurent smirked. He knew Damen had no reason to be afraid. In all reality, he was not sure he could beat Damen, not like this. Not one-on-one, not without poison on his blades, not in close quarters, not in a fair fight. But it would do him some good to try. 

"You are trying to avoid our conversation," Damen settled back into his seat, lounging as if he had no care in the world, though his smile held unreleased laughter. He said, "Sit down, my Lord, so we can discuss."

"One day, we are going to fight," Laurent said as he took his seat again, "and I hope you are prepared to lose."

"Oh, I'm not worried about it," Damen grinned. 

Laurent punched him on the arm, but Damen swatted his hand away with minimal effort. When he tried to return the joking blow, Laurent flinched violently and retreated by leaning back. Damen backed off quickly after that, though his eyes softened and searched Laurent's face.

"Are you okay? You're jittery," Damen said.

"I'm always jittery," Laurent shrugged and quickly changed the subject, "Will I need your father's permission before I can join you?"

Damen chuckled, "Is Vere really so antiquated? No, Laurent, you are free to go where you like. You'll be my guest; my father has nothing to do with it." 

Laurent looked at his hands. He wasn't sure what to say.

"It will be hot," Damen warned, "so I advise you bring thinner clothes than what you are used to." 

"I'll be fine," Laurent replied, and Damen laughed.

"You will pass out with heat exhaustion in under an hour if you're dressed like that," Damen replied, still smiling, though Laurent did not doubt that the words were true. He said lightly, "I can find a chiton for you to wear."

"I don't think that's necessary," Laurent shook his head. The thought of wearing so little made his cheeks turn pink.

"Well, you'll change your mind when you're out in the heat. Besides, you would look good in a chiton," Damen said, glancing over Laurent in a way that made Laurent's heart flutter like a hummingbird.

Laurent was unable to speak for a long moment, so Damen took the opportunity to continue, "You will like it in Akielos. I can take you to the beach, or out riding in the cliffs. Do you drink wine? I haven't seen you drink." 

Laurent shook his head wordlessly and continued staring at Damen's big eyes. Some time while Damen was talking, he had set his hand on Laurent's leg, and Laurent felt like his skin was on fire. His brain was refusing to say anything helpful.

"That is a shame, we have good wine," Damen said with a little shrug, "but we will have to find other ways to occupy time." 

Eloquently, Laurent said, "Uh. Yes." 

"Can you read much in Akielon?" Damen asked, sitting just a bit closer, "You had me read the Akielon documents for you the other day, so I'm not sure." 

"A bit," Laurent shrugged, "Pretty well, I think." 

"Good!" Damen smiled brightly, and Laurent again found himself looking to the dimple on his cheek, "We have a large library. You will be welcome to any books you want." 

"It won't be for so long," Laurent said, snapping himself back to reality, "It will only be for a bit." 

"Until your uncle is apprehended, I assumed," Damen said quizzically, and Laurent shrugged.

"That may not be long." 

Damen searched his face and slowly leaned closer. Panic jumped into Laurent's throat, but Damen just leaned in for the purpose of lowering his voice, "You will be ceasing your efforts to find him, correct?"

Laurent floundered for a moment, and his silence was an answer enough. He saw the moment understanding crept into Damen's eyes.

He thought about going on the offensive. Damen was in no position to cast judgement on him; this issue did not concern him. But something about the softness in Damen's eyes dulled all of Laurent's sharp edges. He took a deep breath before asking: 

"Would you?"

Taken aback, Damen stared at him for a few seconds before shaking his head. He admitted, "No. I suppose I would not." 

"Well then," Laurent said with a little nod, "you understand better than my brother does." 

"I'm sure he means well."

"I know he does," Laurent sank deeper into the couch and this time, did not flinch when Damen leaned close enough that their shoulders touched just a bit. Laurent continued, "I just wish he'd shut up sometimes." 

Damen laughed loudly, and Laurent felt himself smile.

He realized very suddenly that he liked Damen in a way he had never liked a person. He liked Damen's muscles and his smile and his laugh and the way he made Laurent feel. Damen didn't make him afraid. Damen made him want to be gentle.

That, Laurent decided, was going to be a problem.

Then Damen reached over and brushed his thumb over Laurent's cheek, murmuring, "You have an eyelash." He brushed the fallen lash away, then studied Laurent's face to be certain he had gotten it. Laurent stared into his eyes, and for the first time in his life, thought about whether or not it would feel good to be kissed at that moment.

Damen drew his hand back, and to make up for it, Laurent leaned his head against Damen's shoulder.

The next thing he knew, Damen's finger were running through his hair. Laurent could not remember the last time he felt so safe with another person. His eyelids felt heavy, and when Damen adjusted to draw Laurent a bit closer, Laurent did not pull away.

Damen was warm. Laurent sank into his touch.

It was much later that Damen squeezed Laurent just a bit, then released him to say, "You should go pack." 

"Right," Laurent murmured. He wanted to stay, but he knew it was getting late. He stood and straightened his clothes, and Damen stood after him. Laurent said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then." 

"Until then," Damen said. He leaned forward and kissed Laurent on the cheek, and Laurent thought he would die. When he drew away and saw Laurent's expression, Damen asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Laurent shook his head, "I'm just tired." 

Damen smiled, gave a little bow, then said, "Sleep well, my Lord." 

"And you, your Highness."

Laurent turned and began back to his chambers. 

Maybe Akielos would not be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever to get out! hope you enjoyed :)


	12. the sparring

Laurent packed his knives first. He kept Aimeric's knife out so he could carry it on his person, but bundled up his throwing knives in a cloak and tucked them in his trunk. He packed his thinner clothes, per Damen's recommendation.

How hot could Akielos be, really? Summers in Arles got warm, and it was not that bad. He thought surely Damen was exaggerating.

He picked up the Akielon royal pin he'd found in town. He'd nearly forgotten about it in all the stress of the day. It seemed important, though he could not figure out why his uncle would be in possession of such a thing.

He tucked the pin in beside his cloak and shut the trunk.

Morning came too fast. When he woke, the sun was slipping through the windows, and Laurent was still tired. He yawned and laid in bed for a few more minutes before dragging himself to go get dressed.

His hair was flat on one side and messy on the other, so Laurent spent a little extra time combing through it that morning. He was nervous. He realized this very suddenly when he dropped his comb through shaky fingers. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it.

He dressed quickly and made his way toward the grand hall, where the Akielons would be leaving. He took with him a small bag, slung over his shoulders and stocked with two books and a small vial of oleander powder. He couldn't justify taking the powder, nor did he have any intent of using it, but it made him feel safer. 

Auguste was waiting just outside the doors for him. He smiled, looking a bit sad, as Laurent approached. He took a step forward to meet Laurent and said, "You look tired." 

"Wow," Laurent rolled his eyes, "Thanks." 

"I didn't mean it like that," Auguste laughed just a little, just a breathy sound more than a real laugh. He said lightly, "I know you've been stressed recently, but I promise you, everything is going to be alright. You should get some sleep on the way. It will do you some good." 

If Laurent were able to sleep, he would have. But he didn't say that. Instead, he just shrugged and said, "Right." 

"You look nice," Auguste amended his original statement, and when he saw the look on Laurent's face, he said, "I mean it."

"Thanks," Laurent sighed. He was not looking forward to the journey.

Auguste hugged him quickly. When he pulled away, he held Laurent at arm's length and said, "When I see you again, it will be for the execution. Soon, I swear it."

Laurent nodded. 

Auguste released him, and the two moved into the grand hall.

Damen saw them first, and he bowed to Auguste.

"Your Grace," Damen said, then looking at Laurent, he said, "My Lord." 

Laurent bowed, too, then lower when he stopped in front of King Theomedes.

"Your Grace, It is very kind of you to allow me refuge in your palace. Thank you," He said to the Akielon king.

When he straightened, King Theomedes was regarding him curiously. The king said, "Of course. Akielos would not turn their back on someone in need. Besides, my son is glad to have you."

Laurent had to carefully control his reaction to that. 

"My Lord," Damen gestured for Laurent to step aside with him, so Laurent quickly bowed to the king and moved over to Damen, who continued, "it's going to be a long journey."

"I have some books with me," Laurent replied.

"That is smart," Damen nodded, "but I was thinking we could spend some time talking. It may not be easy to read at sea, anyway." 

Laurent nodded, but he didn't believe it. He had been on a ship once before as a child, and he did not remember it too well. But still, surely it could not be so bad that he couldn't read. Laurent had read in carriages. It couldn't be too different.

The final goodbyes were said, and Laurent met his brother's eyes one last time before stepping out. Auguste gave him a smile and a firm nod, and Laurent returned it. 

+

The sea was worse than Damen had warned. Laurent could hardly keep his eyes open, much less read. He spent the majority of the week-long trip laying on his cot and nursing a headache. 

Damen sat on a pillow he put on the floor beside the cot. He leaned on the wall beside Laurent's head and talked for hours about anything that came to mind. Some gossip among his court, some activities they could do once in Akielos, humorous antecedents about his childhood. Laurent most of that time just listening and trying not to vomit, but Damen managed to make him laugh through the discomfort of seasickness.

"I could read it for you," Damen said, gesturing to Laurent's bag.

Laurent curled up tighter and drew his blanket closer. It was their fifth day of travels, and he thought he was beginning to think they would never make it to land. Barely coherent, Laurent just muttered, "Huh?" 

"Your book," Damen said, "I could read it out loud to you." 

Laurent frowned. This was different than Damen just talking about himself. Damen didn't stand to gain from this. The books, Laurent already knew, would not interest Damen. 

"You don't have to do that," Laurent said with as much of a head shake as he could manage without feeling nauseous. 

"It might help you to relax," Damen said. He propped his chin up on the edge of the cot, just a few inches from where Laurent's own head was rested. 

Laurent could never think straight when he looked into Damen's eyes, so he just said, "Okay." 

Damen smiled and moved to Laurent's bag. 

A jolt of panic darted through Laurent when he remembered the poison.

"Wait--"

"This one?" Damen held up one of the books, and Laurent took a breath. The poison was stuck at the bottom of the bag. If Damen didn't look any harder, he wouldn't see it.

"Sure," Laurent nodded. Anything to get Damen away from the bag.

Damen settled back into his seat and opened the book. His voice was even and smooth as he read. It was a comforting, almost melodic sound. Laurent thought he could listen to Damen read for hours. For days, maybe. 

He was wrong, of course, because he drifted to sleep only twenty minutes later.

When he woke, Damen was gone. In his place was the book, bookmarked neatly with a note explaining that he had gone to dinner and would be back soon. Laurent groaned and dragged himself out of bed. As he moved, he hugged himself. The extra pressure around his stomach made him feel less nauseous. 

The dining room was nearly empty, save for Damen and a few soldiers. When Laurent hastily approached, Damen looked up and laughed in good nature, "Look at you! You're standing!" 

Immediately, Laurent wanted to draw back. Was Damen making fun of him?

"Come sit," Damen gestured to an empty spot at the table, "Eat something, it will be good for you." 

"I don't know if I can stomach it," Laurent said as he slipped into the seat. 

Damen pushed a piece of bread into his hand, "Just a little bit."

And Laurent thought he might have done anything for Damen in that moment, so he took a bite of the bread. Damen's smile was a reward in and of itself. Laurent would have risked a lot more than sickness to see that smile.

The next day, Damen did voices for each of the characters. 

Laurent laughed suddenly and sharply, and Damen looked up from the book, happy and un-offended.

"I like your laugh," Damen said.

Determined not to dwell on that for too long, Laurent said, "I have not heard someone do that since my brother read to me as a child." 

"Well," Damen gave him a knowing look, "I thought it might help you stay awake."

Laurent laughed again, and Damen's gaze lingered on him for just a moment longer before beginning to read again. Laurent smiled to himself as he listened. Every so often, he broke his silence to laugh, and in those moments, Damen always looked up at him and smiled like he were hearing his laugh for the first time.

The ship docked outside of Ios, and it was only a short carriage ride to the palace.

Laurent spent the entire ride watching out the windows as the city passed around them. He had never seen Akielos. It did not look the way he had expected. The city was bustling with life. Children played games and ran about while their parents talked or shopped or tried to wrangle them. Laurent could not tear his eyes away.

"I told you you would like it here," Damen said, nudging him playfully.

Laurent rolled his eyes, and Damen laughed.

The first few days in Ios passed in a blur. 

He was constantly faced with new stimulus. The food was more spicy than anything he had tasted before, and the sun was much, much hotter. He could hear the ocean from his window in the guest bedchambers. At night, when he would read before bed, he sat by the window and was frequently distracted by the crashing of the water. 

Damen showed him around the palace on the second day. He was particularly excited to show Laurent the library. Every so often, his face would brighten and he would show Laurent to a new section or a new book. He would point to different things and rattle off about them, but Laurent couldn't take his eyes off Damen's face.

The days slipped by. Laurent lost track. The urge to find his uncle receded every time Damen smiled, and he found himself imagining what it would be like to just stay here, with Damen. No stress, no killing, no secrets. Just the two of them. It was not realistic, he knew, but he liked the thought.

The Akielon pin sat in his trunk. It was in the back of his mind always, but he never dedicated much time to it.

Aimeric's knife remained in his sleeve at all times. Laurent thought this was very clever and discrete, until Damen pointed it out one day.

"You know you don't need to carry that with you everywhere you go," Damen chided lightly. 

"You carry a sword," Laurent argued.

"Not to breakfast." 

Laurent shifted. Damen was more observant that Laurent had previously thought. It was annoying. It was also endearing, but Laurent did not let him dwell on that part.

"I just want to make sure you know you are safe here," Damen said.

"I always feel safe with you," Laurent admitted. It made his cheeks burn.

Damen could not possibly understand how high of a compliment that was. He did not know the constant paranoia and anxiety Laurent had been feeling for the majority of his life. He did not know the fighting and anger and blood Laurent had experienced. Damen probably felt safe every moment of his life.

"I am glad," Damen said lightly, like it was a silly matter, and Laurent knew he didn't really get it. Damen said just a bit more seriously, "I'll always keep you safe if you need me."

"I don't," Laurent replied automatically, "Need you, I mean." 

Damen reached forward and brushed a stray hair from Laurent's face while saying, "If you want me, then." 

"Want you?" 

"Yes," Damen's lips quirked into a smirk.

Laurent pulled back a bit and said sharply, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Of course," Damen said with a little nod, though his smirk did not leave his face.

"You are too familiar," Laurent said quickly, and Damen laughed.

"I would like to be _more_ familiar," Damen nodded to the knife, "Do you always have that with you? Even in Arles?" 

"Especially in Arles," Laurent said, still reeling.

"It's an interesting little blade," Damen said, then outstretched his hand, "May I see?" 

Laurent did not make habit of handing his weapons over to other people, but he did not think twice about handing his knife to Damen. He knew Damen would not turn it against him.

Damen's fingers dragged slowly across the hilt. He said, "It's nice." 

"It's shit," Laurent said quickly. Suddenly it was embarrassing. The knife was old and a bit ugly. The style had gone out even before Laurent had received the gift. It was not worthy of being held by Damianos. Laurent thought that maybe he himself was not worthy of such an honor, either.

Damen laughed out of surprise and said, "I forget sometimes, that your pretty mouth can be so vulgar." 

Laurent thought his heart might have stopped for a moment.

"Here," Damen handed back the knife, and Laurent tucked it away. Damen asked, "You know how to use it?" 

"Yes," Laurent broke into a smile, "Would you like to see?" 

Not at all looking threatened, Damen laughed and nodded, then followed Laurent outside to the sparring arena. At such an early hour, the guards were doing drills in the yard. One-on-one training was reserved for afternoon hours, so the arena was as empty as it could be. Not even servants passed through.

Damen took a training sword, metal but blunted, and took his position. He was very poised, very practiced. Laurent could see immediately all the years of work that went into perfecting his stance, his body. It would not be an easy fight. 

But, Laurent reminded himself, they never were easy. He always won them anyway.

Damen made the first move: an elegant, well-balanced thrust aimed at the center of Laurent's chest. In a quick motion, Laurent stepped out of the way and pushed closer to Damen. In a real brawl, he might have slit his opponent's wrist tendons while they were unguarded, but here, he just moved for Damen's throat.

Damen shoved him back easily and brought his sword up again, but Laurent parried. Damen swung high, and Laurent ducked. A moment of instinct nearly caused him to slash across Damen's knees, but he caught himself.

When he took a step back to consider his opponent, Damen narrowed his eyes. He fought harder after that, now that he was convinced Laurent was not a novice.

It was quick and dizzying. Strike, slash, parry, dodge, strike. Damen fought well. He fought with honor and dignity and the fluidity of a well-trained swordsman. Laurent did not, and he knew it must be obvious. Laurent fought with the careful calculation of an assassin and the nasty tricks of a street fighter.

A sharp jab with his elbow sent Damen down to one knee. He swung at Laurent, but Laurent dodged until he was behind Damen, where he kicked him to the ground. 

For a second, he thought he had won, then Damen kicked his legs out from under him. Laurent caught himself with one arm before he could hit the ground with his full weight, but the blow had startled him. His fingers stayed locked around the hilt of his knife.

Before he could get his bearings, Damen was on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pinning him down to the ground.

Both paused for a long moment to catch their breath. 

Laurent cursed internally. If this were real, he would be dead. 

Damen was laughing, though. And why shouldn't he? This was just a game, Laurent had to remind himself.

"You fight dirty," Damen laughed, "Well, but dirty." 

"You think so?"

Laurent then jammed his knee between Damen's legs and used the following moment of shock to shove Damen off him. He rolled on top of Damen, pinning Damen's elbows with his knees and scooping up his knife with one of his free hands. 

Damen squirmed under him, but Laurent kept his position.

This time, Laurent let himself laugh.

"How are you doing this?" Damen tried to throw Laurent's weight, "You're small." 

"It's more about weight distribution than that," Laurent replied. He set one hand on Damen's chest and twirled his knife in the other. 

"Let's go again." 

"Sore loser?" Laurent asked, but he began to get up.

The second he relented, though, Damen caught him by the arm and pulled him to the ground. Unwilling the be bested again, Laurent scrambled to kick Damen back, but Damen just batted his leg away.

 _He's stronger_ , Laurent thought in alarm. He mentally reprimanded himself for being stupid. Of course Damen was stronger. Laurent had known that in advance, but seeing the strength-- feeling it-- was more than anything Laurent had imagined. 

Laurent squirmed his way out of Damen's grip and got to his feet. He held his knife at the ready and slipped back into his fighting stance. Damen stood, too, smirking.

"You're cute," Damen said offhandedly, then he picked up the sword. 

They struck blades, and Laurent dodged a swipe from Damen. Block, strike, swing. Laurent's body was beginning to tire. He could see through Damen's slowed movements that he was also feeling the effects of the fight.

Most of the fights Laurent had been in had been over quickly. This one would have been over quickly, too, if it were real. One of them would already be dead.

Laurent caught his foot around the back of Damen's ankle and knocked him flat, then quickly moved to pin him again. Before Damen could catch his breath, Laurent set his knife against his throat. 

There was a long pause, both of them staring at each other, barely a few inches between them. The knife hovered dangerously above Damen's throat, but Damen was only looking at Laurent.

"You are really..." Damen took a deep breath, "so beautiful." 

That was not what Laurent had expected him to say. He froze for a moment, then murmured, "You don't have to say that." 

"I do," Damen replied, "because you are." 

Laurent shook his head, "You're not going to make me put the knife away. I'm not an idiot; I don't fall for stupid tricks."

"I yield," Damen said, shaking his head, "This isn't a trick."

Laurent just stared at him, and Damen reached up to run his fingers through Laurent's hair. Laurent subconsciously tilted his head just a bit into his touch. He slipped the knife back into its place, but didn't move.

"I hope I have not made you uncomfortable," Damen said, his eyes darting across Laurent's face. 

Laurent murmured, "You haven't." 

He sat back just a bit so Damen could sit up. Still sitting on Damen's thighs, he watched Damen get upright. Their faces were very close. Laurent could not think.

Damen said slowly, "I am inclined to kiss you right now." 

"Yes," Laurent said quickly, surprising even himself with his eagerness, "Kiss me." 

He leaned forward fast, his heart pounding fast and his mind racing, but Damen set a hand on his cheek to stop him just short of a kiss. He stopped for just a moment, meeting Laurent's eyes, then eased Laurent closer. The kiss was soft. Softer than Laurent had expected, even. It made Laurent as dizzy and elated as a drunk.

When they drew away, there was a pause. Laurent looked up to meet Damen's eyes again. 

A part of him was afraid Damen didn't feel the same thing he did. Maybe only Laurent had enjoyed it. Maybe this was an elaborate joke and Damen would laugh at him in just a moment.

But Damen pulled Laurent in close again and kissed him more roughly. His hands stayed clutching Laurent tight, one at the back of his neck and one on the small of his back. Laurent brought his hands hesitantly to Damen's face.

Laurent was starting to understand why people liked romance so much. 

He kissed eagerly, if sloppily. Damen matched his energy, though he was clearly more experienced. A few seconds in, Laurent wondered if he was making an embarrassment of himself by kissing wrong. It was a stupid anxiety, but he felt it anyway.

Damen moved to kiss his jaw, then his neck, and Laurent instinctively muttered, "Shit." His eyes opened quickly, but drooped shut again after the first few kisses. Damen's hand traveled down the length of Laurent's spine until he was squeezing his ass.

Laurent put his fingers under Damen's chin and forced it up just a bit so he could continue kissing his lips. He slipped his arm around Damen's neck and held him close through the kisses.

"I have wanted to do this for some time," Damen murmured between kisses.

Laurent broke away to whisper, "So have I." He was shocked by the truth of it. He'd never wanted to kiss anyone before. This was an entirely new feeling. It made his stomach flip.

The days were more exciting after that. 

Laurent spent his mornings eating brunch with the ladies and reading in the library while Damen was in council meetings, and he spent the afternoons with Damen. They talked quite a bit about books and politics and gossip. They kissed quite a bit, too. 

It was something Laurent found himself looking forward to, which was odd. He would sit at the table at brunch, getting tipsy on orange juice mixed with alcohol and thinking about Damen's kisses.

In the back of his mind was always his uncle, and most nights, he cursed himself and spewed anger at his idiocy throughout the day. Every day that passed, it would be more difficult to find his uncle. He hated himself for letting a stupid, childish crush distract him from the real problem.

But it wasn't a stupid, childish crush, and that was the problem.

One evening, Damen was bold enough to find a hidden corner of the library and kiss Laurent until he couldn't breathe anymore. Laurent was getting better at kissing. His hands were more certain and his movements less stiff. Every so often, he would move his hips in a way that made Damen's breath stutter.

"Do you want to go back to my chambers?" Damen asked. His voice was soft and delicate, but the words shot panic through Laurent's body. 

He gave himself a second to think about it. Removing his clothes, letting Damen see him. It had been years since he had been bare in front of another person, even in the baths. Sex was not something he let himself think about too often. It made his stomach flip flop.

"We don't have to," Damen said quickly, "We don't have to do anything you don't want." 

"Not today," Laurent said, then he shook his head, "No, I'm being ridiculous. We can go, if you want." 

"Laurent," Damen drew his brows together, "I don't want to if you don't."

"I do, I just--" Laurent took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "I am not very... experienced."

A smile quirked at the corner of Damen's lips, and he asked, "Really?" 

"Shut up," Laurent snapped.

"I am not making fun of you," Damen said with a little laugh, "I am just a bit surprised, is all." 

Laurent had thought it was very obvious that he was not sexually experienced. He hardly ever let people touch him, and he did not exactly have many friends he might have fooled around with. Not to mention, his reputation as cold and sharp did not attract many suitors.

"You are so..." Damen brushed his fingers through Laurent's hair, "Gods, you are so beautiful and clever and intelligent. I cannot be the first person to be interested."

"Well," Laurent glanced down. 

"Hey," Damen set his fingers under Laurent's chin and tipped it upward, "Nothing you don't want. I promise. We can just sit here and talk; we don't have to do anything more than that." 

Laurent drew his arms around himself and said carefully, "It will not offend me if you are no longer interested."

Damen knit his brow, "Why would that be?" 

"Because," Laurent frowned, "I have heard of your reputation. I know you enjoy sex, and I will not be offended if you look elsewhere for it."

He would be, and he knew it. But he would also feel guilty if he prevented Damen from enjoying himself. He knew monogamy was not the standard for nobles in Akielos, and though it made him a bit sad, Laurent could bear it if Damen found comfort in the arms of another. Damen did not belong to him. That was okay.

"You don't seem to understand," Damen said with a little shake of his head, "You are the only one I want. I don't believe I could be with anyone else without thinking of you." 

Laurent felt his cheeks heat. He murmured, "Really?"

"Really," Damen nodded, "I think about you all the time, even when you're not with me. You have ruined me for everyone else. I don't think I can be with another person so long as I am infatuated with you, and I do not plan to stop being infatuated with you."

Laurent lifted a brow, "Infatuated?"

Laurent was about to make fun of him, something about how 'I didn't know you knew words that big' but he stopped himself when Damen suddenly looked a bit more serious and said, "I really like you, Laurent. I like you a lot. I don't know that I've ever felt this way."

"You were engaged," Laurent reminded him.

"It fell apart for a reason."

Laurent found it within himself to admit, "I've never felt this way, either."

Damen smiled broadly, and he leaned in to kiss him again, longer this time. He lingered a bit after the kiss was done, a centimeter between their lips, then pressed another kiss to him, this one light and quick. When he drew away, he said, "I could kiss you forever." 

"I could allow that," Laurent said, a smile tugging at his lips.

It was not forever, but it was the majority of the night.

The next day, Laurent would face the price of neglecting his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little fluff, for the soul :)
> 
> thanks so much for reading! Hope you are all doing well.
> 
> Comments & kudos appreciated <3


	13. Chapter 13

That morning, Damen was free from meetings. 

Laurent met with him early to eat breakfast in Damen's chambers, and when they were finished, they remained in bed, lounging. Damen's bed was soft. Laurent sank into the pillows and drew the blankets around him, the morning sun shining across his face. Damen was lying behind him, kissing up his arms and running his fingers through his hair.

"You seem happier," Damen said, "Lighter, maybe." 

Laurent did feel happier _and_ lighter. He curled closer to Damen and said, "Well, I like it here." 

"I am glad," Damen kissed his brow, "I like having you here." 

_I'm wasted here_. Laurent knew that. In Arles, he had a purpose and a job and a family. Here he had none of those things, and still, he could not deny that he liked it. It was nice to pretend this was possible-- a soft, sunny life with Damen. It was unrealistic. He liked it anyway.

Laurent sat up a bit, and Damen tugged him back down.

"Don't get up yet," Damen said, smiling.

"We can't lazy around all day," Laurent argued without real conviction.

"We can, though," Damen laughed. He dragged Laurent back down to the mattress, and Laurent laughed.

Damen took Laurent's wrists and maneuvered them above his head, pinning them without force to the mattress. Laurent didn't try to struggle out of his grip-- he knew that if he did, Damen would release him immediately. Instead he looked up at Damen's face hovering above his own and laughed a bit.

"Perhaps I'll teach you to wrestle one day," Damen said, his eyes tracing Laurent's face.

Laurent laughed, "I heard a rumor Akielons wrestle in the nude." 

"That's true." 

"Ah, I see now," Laurent arched his brow, "This is your elaborate way of undressing me."

Damen shook his head, then leaned down to press a deep kiss to Laurent's lips. When he came up, Damen said, "I will do nothing you are uncomfortable with." He then rolled off Laurent and onto his side.

Laurent was still for a few seconds, then lifted his hand to his collar. A bit clumsily, he undid the knot.

"What are you--"

"Kiss me," Laurent said, and Damen quickly obliged. Laurent continued pulling his laces loose as they kissed. His mind was racing. 

In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this. But he did want it, even if his hands were a little shaky. He let himself relax into Damen's touch. Damen's hands were traveling up his legs. Unthinking, Laurent let them spread a bit. 

He sat up a bit and tugged off his shirt. Damen kissed along the skin that was left exposed, and Laurent fell back into the pillows. His hand slipped down to begin untying the laces on his trousers. He slipped them off carefully and threw them onto the floor.

Damen leaned back a bit and murmured, "Fuck. You're perfect." His fingers trailed over Laurent's skin with delicacy. 

"Your turn," Laurent said, tugging at his chiton, and Damen laughed at his eagerness.

Damen pulled off his chiton and threw it aside. Laurent was briefly stunned by Damen's body. Muscles rippled under the skin. His skin was rich from sunlight and perfectly even. Laurent moved his hand across Damen's bicep subconsciously. 

Damen kissed a line down Laurent's chest and stopped when he reached Laurent's legs. He lifted his head.

"You want this?" He asked, and Laurent nodded. Eagerness was building up in his chest, overshadowing any residual fear. 

"Yes, gods." 

Damen lowered his head, and when Laurent realized what he was doing, he jolted.

"Wait," He said sharply. Damen immediately picked his head up, looking surprised at the outburst, but not angry.

"Is something wrong?" 

"No, I just... I... I'm not going to do that. For you, I mean," Laurent said quickly, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Sorry?" Damen looked confused.

"I mean I'm not going to reciprocate. So if that's the only reason you're doing this, then--" But Damen had already lowered his mouth onto Laurent, and Laurent could no longer speak.

Laurent buried himself as far into the pillows as he could. His fingers curled around the corners of one and held tightly. He couldn't catch his breath. Every time he made a sound, whether it be a shaky inhale or a murmur of a curse word, it seemed to encourage Damen to do more. 

_This is too much_ , Laurent thought to himself. It was unbelievable. He thought he might pass out from it all.

He fought the urge to lift his hips. He didn't want to hurt Damen in the process. Even so, he wriggled and squirmed from the feeling. Several times, he caught himself making noises that might have embarrassed him if he were more lucid, but his mind was not with him. He could think of nothing but the feeling of Damen's mouth.

It did not last particularly long. Laurent could not even think to be embarrassed. His head was too full of pleasure.

Laurent was breathing heavily when Damen came up to kiss him on the cheek. Chaste and sweet, almost ironic. Laurent kissed him deeply, and he felt Damen shift his hips against Laurent.

"We don't have to do anything more than this," Damen said when he pulled away, then reminded him, "Nothing you don't want." 

Laurent shook his head, "I want this." 

Damen nodded, kissed him quickly, then murmured, "As do I." 

Then Damen got up to retrieve oil.

When Damen got back on the bed, Laurent felt his nerves creeping back. He had forgotten them temporarily, but watching Damen coat his fingers, he felt his stomach twist.

 _Relax_ , he told himself, _Damen isn't going to hurt you. You know this._ And he did know it.

Damen paused when he saw Laurent's face and said, "Are you alright?"

Laurent hesitated before nodding stiffly and saying, "Just go slow." Then he began to turn over, but Damen stopped him with a touch of his hand.

"Lie on your back. I want to see you," He said, then a bit more seriously, "We can stop at any time. You know that?" 

Laurent nodded.

"We don't have to--" 

"Just fuck me," Laurent blurt, and Damen began laughing. 

"If you insist," He smiled and slid his hand between Laurent's legs. 

It felt strange at first. It didn't hurt, but it was strange. Damen was watching his face so carefully, Laurent was self-conscious. Then Damen added a second finger, and Laurent caught his breath. He nodded quickly for Damen to keep going. Damen did. His fingers rubbed against a particular spot that made Laurent's heart rate quicken and sent shocks through his body, and seeing this reaction, Damen made sure to hit that spot mercilessly.

By the time he pulled his fingers out, Laurent was writhing and panting. Damen slicked himself and pressed slowly, allowing Laurent to adjust.

"Shit," Laurent muttered out loud. He hadn't meant to say it. 

Damen kissed him. Laurent let himself get lost in that for a long moment, then Damen's hands skirted around Laurent's body, pinching his nipples and sliding between his legs. Laurent felt awkward. He wasn't sure where to put his hands.

"Doing alright?" Damen murmured, and Laurent nodded enthusiastically. Damen smiled and said, "Good." 

Then he began to move his hips a bit faster.

+

Laurent's legs were practically shaking as he walked back to his own chambers.

He was proud of himself. Irrationally, maybe, but still. He had wanted this and had been afraid of it, and he'd done it anyway. It made him smile. He felt as if he had overcome something within himself.

Not only that, he had enjoyed it. Quite a bit. Already he found himself thinking of the next time it would happen. 

He slipped into his chambers to change into nicer clothes. The king would be at lunch, or so he had heard the servants say, and he wanted to make sure his image was still good. When he passed by his mirror, he started. His hair was wildly messy. His cheeks flushed to think of all the servants he passed in the hallways. They must have known immediately what he had been doing.

When he sat before the mirror, he was distantly aware that it was not comfortable. That only made him smile more.

He left his room a few moments later and immediately got the sense something was wrong. The lively palace had gone still. Nothing moved. No one was around. 

Laurent paused in the hallway. His mind was racing. Something was wrong, and he did not know what it was. He took another few steps forward, then turned back to his chambers. He wanted his knives. 

He stopped in the doorway when he saw that someone else had already gotten inside before him. The large figure turned to look at him and smiled.

"Govart," Laurent murmured.

"Hello, sweetheart," Govart grinned widely, exposing his yellowing teeth, "Your uncle thought you might appreciate a familiar face."

"I don't," Laurent said dryly. His knife was on the bedside table. If he could get to it--

"No? You've been whoring for an Akielon so long you don't appreciate your own kind?" Govart's smile slipped into a sneer, and Laurent wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Govart drew his sword, then propped it up against the wall by the doorway. 

Laurent's mouth was dry as he asked, "You won't be needing that?" 

"I regret to tell you I am only your escort. You uncle wants to see you one last time, so I'm afraid I will not have the pleasure of killing you. At least not quite yet," Govart tipped his head to the side, eyeing Laurent, "but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, you and I." 

"Fuck off," Laurent snapped.

"Are you enjoying Akielos? You certainly look like you are," His eyes darted across Laurent's face, "I don't think you'll look so nice when I'm done with you. I think I'll cut your silver tongue out." 

"You didn't come here to talk," Laurent said sharply, "so I would prefer we move past the pleasantries."

"Your choice," Govart shrugged nonchalantly, "I thought I'd give you a chance to savor your last few moments of freedom, but if you are quite finished--"

"Yes, they've been lovely, thank you," Laurent replied sarcastically. He lunged for his knife. 

Govart snagged him around the waist and dragged him to the ground, throwing him down. Laurent hit his shoulder at an odd angle and gritted his teeth. He kicked Govart in the stomach. 

Govart clearly hadn't been expecting much of a fight. He snarled and grappled for Laurent, trying to pin him, but Laurent was well versed in opponents larger than him. He slipped out of Govart's grasp every time. 

Laurent stumbled to his feet and punched hard at Govart's face. It didn't affect him as much as Laurent would have hoped. He darted for his knife again, and Govart swiped his legs out from under him. Laurent caught himself and rolled to his hands and knees, bracing to get up.

Govart yanked Laurent up by the hair and curled an arm around his neck. Laurent's hands instinctively went to pull on the man's arm in a desperate attempt to loosen his hold. He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned as he dug his fingernails into the man's arm. His vision started going fuzzy along the edges. He drew blood from Govart's arm, but even that wasn't enough to make him let go. Panic raced through Laurent as he couldn't draw a breath.

Laurent kicked the wall in front of him, and the momentum pushed the two of them against the wall behind them. Govart groaned in pain as his back hit the stones, and his grip slipped. Laurent slipped free and made a wild dash for his knife. A half-second after his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he spun around to face his opponent. Govart was already swinging a candleholder at him.

The candleholder slammed across Laurent's temple, and he staggered against the wall, nearly down on his knees. Warm blood trickled from the spot. Laurent kept his grip tight on the knife and lunged forward. 

He was dizzy. His head was spinning from the impact. Laurent's first slash only grazed Govart's arm, and Govart elbowed him in the face. Laurent jerked away, cradling his bleeding nose.

"You're a fiery little devil, I'll give you that. Really a waste," Govart snarled, then he lunged to tackle Laurent.

Laurent held his knife fast and shoved it between Govart's ribs. Surprise was obvious on his face as Govart slowly drew away, blood slipping between his fingers.

Govart fell heavily, and Laurent braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

His head hurt so badly, he could hardly see. His nose was dripping blood onto the ground.

_Damen._

He cursed and straightened with some effort. An attack on the palace could not be good for Damen.

Laurent stepped over Govart and fished his throwing knives out of his trunk. He strapped them to his thigh slower than he might usually and dragged himself to his feet.

When he stepped out of his room, he was met with a sword leveled with his throat. He looked up at his attacker and muttered, "Damen?" 

"Laurent!" Damen lowered his sword immediately and reached out with his other hand, "Thank the gods, you're alive." Then a few seconds later: "Fuck, you're bleeding a _lot_."

"I'm okay," Laurent replied, though he steadied himself against the wall, "What's happening?" 

"It's a coup. We need to go," Damen told him, and Laurent felt his stomach drop.

"My uncle is here," Laurent muttered in thick Veretian. His words were slurring, and he pressed his hand against the gash on his head. It throbbed against his palm. 

"Did he do that to your face?" Damen asked, glancing to Govart's body. He too had switched to Veretian, which Laurent appreciated endlessly. His mind was not working quickly enough to translate. It hurt too much.

"I took care of it," Laurent said, "as you can see."

Damen's fingers brushed delicately over the cut made by the candleholder. He said, "I'll wash it for you when we get someplace safe. You shouldn't leave it untreated."

Laurent stared at Damen for a few seconds. Maybe it was just the adrenaline quickly leaving his body, but for some reason, all he wanted to do was fall over and let Damen take care of him. He nodded silently, and Damen smiled. Not his usual wide, happy smile, but a soft, gentle curve of his lips. It made Laurent's heart do stupid things.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Damen asked. He put his fingers under Laurent's chin to tip his head back. It seemed to be purely for the sake of assessing the damage, but it still made Laurent's breathing stutter. Damen murmured, "Your pupils are dilated."

"He hit me pretty hard," Laurent said. 

"I can see that," Damen glanced over gash.

"We shouldn't linger," Laurent said suddenly, remembering what was happening. Undoubtedly they wanted Damen dead. And if his uncle was here, he would want Laurent dead, too.

"Take my hand," Damen said, extending it for Laurent. Laurent took it without thinking.

Damen held the sword in front of the two of them and set about moving through the palace.

"This is an inside job," Laurent said when he remembered the pin. The Akielon royal seal. This was the work of an insider.

"There's no one who would do such a thing," Damen shook his head, and Laurent fell silent for a long moment.

"My uncle is here," He said again. The thought kept repeating in his head. He couldn't shake it.

Damen took him by the shoulders and said, "I won't let him get to you. I'll kill him." 

"No," Laurent said firmly. 

Damen looked surprised at the sudden strength in Laurent's voice.

"No," Laurent repeated shaking his head. He tightened his grip on his knife and said, "He's mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! hope you enjoyed :))


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